



Copyright No.. 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


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Madison Square Series 

THE BEST STORIES OF THE BEST AUTHORS 


>0. FEBRUARY 10, 1889. 


ISSUED MONTHLY. 

entered at the new YORK POST OFFICE, AS SECOND-CLASS MATTER. 


$3,00 PER ANNUM. 


WARWICK 


!" 


BIT 

MANSFIELD TRACY WALWORTH, 


|! WOTSPUK,” 

ji 

li 


AUTHOR OF 

“ LULU,” ” STOEMCLIFP,” “ DELAPLAINE,” 
“ BEVERLY,” ETC., ETC. 

i MADISCN 



SERIES. 

noTTo. 


L W. DILLINGHAM, PUBLISHER, 

SUCCESSOR TO 

I G. W. CARLETON & CO. 

I NEW YORK 


AU6USTA J. EVANS’ 

UGnCENT NOYEU. 


BEULAH, - - • - - $1.76 

ST. ELMO, 2.00 

INEZ, - - - - - - 1.75 

MACARIA, - . - - - - 1.75 

VASHTI, 2.00 

INFELICE, - - - - - - 2.00 

AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS, - 2.00 

\ 


A Prominent Critic says of these Novels : 

** The author’s style is beautiful, chaste, and elegant 
Her ideals are clothed in the most fascinating imagery, and 
her power of delineating character is truly remarkal)le. ,Qnt 
of the marked and striking characteristics of each and all 
her works is the purity of sentiment which pervades every 
line, every page, and every chapter.” 


All handsomely printed and bound in cloth, sold everyivhere 
und sent by mail, postage free, on receipt of price, by 


•■Ca G. W. mi.LIXGIIAM, Pl-bmsmrr 

•KS West ajrd Street. New York. 


WARWl C K 


'21 NodcI. 


BV 


A 


Mansfield tkacy walworth, 


1 ) 


AT7THOB OF 

'^HOTSPUR,” “lulu,” “ STOBMCLIPP,” “ DELAPLAIHR,’ 
“BEVERLY,” ETC., ETC. 


“ Oh, Woman 1 whose form and whose sool 
Are the spell and the light of each path we pursue ; 
Whether sunned in the tropics, or chilled at the pole, 

If woman be there, there is happiness too. 

Moohil 



NEW YOR K: 

{r, Wi Dillingham Co,., Publishers, 


MDCCCXCVII, 


Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1869, by 

gp:o. w. cauleton, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the Soulherp District of New York 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1897, by 
E. H. WALWORTH, 

In the olBce of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C. 


War7vick. 


WARWICK 


Cfjapter I. 

— Her mere look 
Strong as a monarch’s signet, and her hand 
Th’ ambition of a kingdom. From all this 
Tamed her high heart away ! She had a mind, 

Deep and immortal, and it would not feed 
On pageantry. Willis. 

It was midnight in the great city. The solemn strokes of 
Ibe bell in the church tower, which heralded the fact, were 
almost lost to the ear in the wild howl of the winter gale, 
A young lady, tall and graceful as a princess, stood listen- 
ing to them as they counted away the last seconds of the 
dying day. She was standing in the entrance of an oratory, 
and one fair hand held back the velvet curtain which divided 
the library from the sacred place of prayer. The sound of 
the bell had arrested her footstep as she was about to enter 
the unknown apartment, and she stood silently counting 
the strokes. When the hour was known, she boldly pushed 
aside-' the drapery and entered. She was amazed to find 
herself confronted by a life-size woman in marble. One of 
Michael Angelo’s exquisite Madonnas was before her. It 
was a copy of the famous statue which stands upon the altar 
in the church of Notre Dame at Bruges. She cast a curious 
glance at the purple velvet hangings and the ebony and 
silver furniture of the small chamber, and then turned with 
a thrill of delight to study the Madonna. It was elevated 
unon dais of purple velvet in the centre of the room, and ^ 
from a large silver lamp on an altar at one side a brilliant 
light fell upon it, revealing all the exquisite details of the 
sculpture. The divine Mother was enveloped in the softest 
drapery. The child Jesus was standing between her Imees { 


WARWICK, 


her eyes were looking forward at the intrader, and her couiv 
tenance indicated a queenly dignity combined with a winning 
sweetness, as if she would say, “ Will not you also come to 
the gentle kingdom of our love? ” Over her hair a handker- 
chief was thrown, the ends softly falling on her lovely neck 
and shoulders. Her garment was drawn tightly downward 
in folds from her knee to the point where the infant Jesus 
was standing on it. 

The intruder paused for a long time before the statue in 
artistic appreciation and study. Then the poetic and re- 
ligious element of her nature asserted itself. 

“This is a chapter in marble from the Gospels,” she mur- 
mured. “ How effective upon the intelligence and the heart 
is the reproduction in material form of the truths of revela- 
tion I Oh that sweet face, that sweet face ! God grant I 
may emulate her loveliness of character and her submission . 
to the divine will. Uncle is right in his love for her, the 
Lily of Israel.” 

A shadow of doubt swept across her fair face as she 
continued her study and her reverie. After a time she 
murmured again, “But where will this logically and in- 
evitably lead us?” 

The response which at length she whispered to herself 
seemed to be bom of the instincts of her devotional nature, 
rather than of a careful analysis of the conflicting arguments 
which had passed rapidly through her intellect. 

“A God who has created in us the instincts of an sesthet- 
ical nature can surely never disapprove of our offering those 
gifts upon his altar. He must be worshipped acceptably 
through music, art, and flowers. The scholar dedicates to 
Him his peculiar gifts in the realm of languages ; the orator 
his powers of beautiful utterance to move men’s souls ; and 
why, then, may not the sculptor and the artist employ their 
gifts in his service by gathering to his temples the fruits 
and flowers and sounds which have fallen to them from the 
borders of the ideal land? Ah, Church of Rome, too long 
have you monopolized all the beautiful and soothing adjuncts 
of worship 1 ” 

With the ease and grace of a wild fawn that has slaked 
Its thirst at some new spring of crystal beauty in the forest, 
she turned to the contemplation of the other novelties of the 
strange chamber. Decided and well-instructed church-woman 
as she was, there was, nevertheless, to her a singularity in 


WAMinCE, 


t 


the arrangements of the oratory, and a more remarkable 
display of religious symbols than she had ever seen. At 
her right hand was a miniature altar of carved ebony, with 
the “ Jesus Hominum Salvator'' represented in its centre by 
the three letters 1. H, S, in silver. The white altar-cloth had 
a pendant edge of point lace. In the centre of it stood a 
large ebony cross, with the suffering Christ in ivory, ex- 
quisitely carved, hanging from its arms. The sacred hands 
and feet were nailed with silver nails. On either side, and 
supporting candles of the purest wax, were solid silver 
candlesticks, carved in representation of the Saviour carry- 
ing his cross, and other scenes in the history of the Passion. 
Upon the altar rested a Bible and a prayer-book, bound in 
dark carved wood, with silver clasps, and in the centre of 
the covers of each an antique cross in silver. At the foot 
of the altar, on the dark, velvet-like carpet, was a kneeling- 
cushion, evidently the gift of some fair hand, elaborately 
embroidered in purple and white silk. 

As she turned to the left, something met her eye which 
gtartled her. She recognized it as a confessional from the 
latticed partition which separated a kneeling-bench from 
the priest’s chair. It resembled the confessionals she had 
seen in the churches of the Roman Catholics, although it 
was open, being only a latticed screen between the kneeling- 
bench and the clergyman’s seat, the latter being a gothic, 
ebony chair, with purple velvet cushion secured by silver 
tacks. The apparition of the confessional was evidently a 
shock to her, for she had never personally known of its em- 
ployment in the Church of England. Her gray eyes dilated 
as she gazed upon it. Then, as if amused at her own timid- 
ity, she smiled, saying aloud : “ Well, well ! They told me 
that uncle was extremely high church ; but I did not dream 
of this. I wonder what fair penitent is admitted here.” 

The sensations occasioned by this “ evident leaning tow- 
ards Rome” were quickly forgotten in the contemplation 
of a large painting hanging against the velvet folds on the 
wall of the octagonal room. The Saviour of the world was 
delineated there in his agony, bound to a pillar and scourged. 
As the genius of the artist and the sublimity of our Lord’s 
humilit}^ gradually dawned upon her, she became conscious 
of a new emotion, a strange longing to sacrifice something 
of her own peace and comfort for the glory of God. Sb« 
ilrew nearer to the picture, and, with the instinotivs gesture 


10 


fTAnmcK^ 


of a woman’s pity, she clasped her hands before it. She real* 
ized her Master’s sufferings in that moment, and for the first 
time in her life. The artist had given to the divine counte- 
nance that refinement and gentleness of expression which so 
many women idolize in men. The eyes were blue as the 
serene heavens of summer. The slightly cuT’Iing and brown 
hair was misty, silken, and wavy as a girl s. The complex- 
ion was a clear, pure blonde; and the small, eflTeminate 
hands, which were clinched about the pillar in agony, were 
exquisitely fashioned, as if they were, indeed, the inheri- 
tance of a long line of princes, tracing their descent from 
David the king. But the sad, suffering countenance of 
Jesus, and, alas I the intense agony of the small, quivering 
woman’s mouth, were not suggestive of the torture which 
men of ordinary muscle can sustain, but rather indicated 
that more exquisite agony of delicate nerves, and poetic 
sensibilities, and lofty pride, which shiver often, like the 
leaves, at only a breath of censure, or thrill with torture at 
the faintest touch of pain. So was the beholder constituted 
in every fibre of her frame ; and, as she gazed, she felt the 
pain, and trembled in sympathy with every blow that fell 
upon the suflTering Christ. A low cry burst from her lips ; 
“Would to God that I might bear a portion of your agony, 
my Lord and Master 1 Grant it, O heavenly Father, that I 
may find favor in your sight ! ” But the face — the face — the 
sweet, pure face I It was forming its likeness upon her heart. 
It was there assuming the dignity of an ideal Hence- 
forth, in her life-journey, she could never worship any man, 
unless he bore in his countenance the likeness of this God, 
— this startlingly beautiful conception of purity and maj- 
esty. For such a face she could sacrifice and suffer. For 
such an idol she could bend her woman’s pride, and wor- 
ship. In her future heaven there could be but two stars, — 
an ideal God lilie to the suffering face close by the pillar of 
shame, and an ideal man struggling upward and onward to 
a union with that God. She fell devoutly upon her knees, 
and prayed that the emotions aroused by that picture might 
never die, and that a life of sacrifice and suffering here might 
win her a crown among the angels. Her prayer and reverie 
‘vci’e long continued ; and, when she arose and left the apart- 
ment, the eyes of the gentle Mother followed her as the 
closing drapery fell softly together behind her gentle. 

mi 


trjLjtmrar. 


a 


She traversed the library, which was dimly lighted by th€ 
red glare of the coal in the grate, and, reaching the hail 
door, cautiously opened it, as if her errand had been a 
secret one, and softly descended the stairs to the main floor 
of the house. She entered the front parlor, which was well 
lighted by the chandelier, and resumed her seat before the 
grate fire. She was a watcher for one who tarried out in 
the driving and fearful storm of rain and sleet. She was 
the only inmate of the house who was awake. Curiosity 
had prompted her secret visit to an apartment which she 
had been given to understand was free only to the invited. 
She had acted under an impulse which now she regretted. 
But her temperament was of the kind that shakes off readily 
regrets at what are only trifling indelicacies ; and then, too, 
the suggestion that the privacy of the oratory was inviolable 
might have been uttered only in banter. She gazed thought- 
fully into the glowing mass of coals for a few moments, and 
listened to the howling of the wind outside, as it rushed 
along the avenue, hurling the sleet against the window- 
glass, or rattling the sash. Then she resumed the reading 
of her book. In this position we will sketch her. 

May Delano was an orphan, and an heiress. At the age 
of twenty she was alone in the world, with ample means to 
cultivate and enjoy the refined tastes which came to her also 
by inheritance. From her parents she derived her literary 
and artistic appreciation, and from them, also, she inherited 
her pride. She cherished firmly the belief that the con- 
sciousness of high birth tends to elevate and ennoble charac- 
ter. But she despised men of family position who lacked 
brains, or who frittered away talents merely because their 
circumstances released them from the necessity of exertion. 
She held to the doctrine that energy, ambition, and progress 
are the duty of every individual. Hence she shook off, with 
the ease and dignity of an empress, the society or attentions 
of that class of men who infest large cities, and whose sole 
ambition is to waste money and to vegetate. Young as she 
was, she was well known to artists and authors as a patron- 
ess of talent. She had relieved the distress of many in each 
class, and with such gentleness and delicacy that her memory 
was held in lasting veneration. From the walls of many a 
humble studio looked forth the sweet face of “ the beautiful 
aristocrat,” — a title given her by an artist who had enjoyed 
her kindnesa, and in gratitude painted her portrait for 


vp'ahWWs:. 


Mbition at the “ National Academy of Design/ *Tith this 
sobriquet attached to the frame. She merited the appellation 
from her height, her graceful carriage, her blonde complexion, 
the delicacy of her features, the proud movement of her small 
and exquisitely shaped head, and the fineness of the outline of 
her slight figure, which reminded one of the delicate propor- 
tions and perfect symmetry of a race-horse and a thorough- 
bred. On horseback she was superb, fearless, the wonder of 
men, and the envy of women. She preferred rapid riding ; and 
her attendant groom found it no trifling matter to keep pace 
with her Her gray eyes were large and lustrous, and. in 
moments of excitement, dazzling, indicating genius, an 
ardent temperament, and violent passions. The long, dark 
lashes, which veiled their beauty, curled outward, and were 
of the same dark chestnut shade as her wonderfully luxuri- 
ant hair, which swept backward from her forehead without 
the slightest ripple, or suggestion of a curl. Her face was 
small, but strictly Grecian in its details ; and her delicate 
mouth and thin, narrow teeth were a perfect mine of refine- 
ments and gentle suggestions. If one could be so fortunate 
as to win her love, that mouth, indeed, would be a paradise. 
But there was an elegant hauteur about her which rendered 
any anticipation of such a pleasant consummation presump- 
tuous in the extreme. She was too fastidious in her tastes, 
too delicate in her nervous organization, and too keenly 
alive to the ridiculous in life, to be approached rashly. 
She might be won through music, — of which her pink shell of 
an ear seemed expressly created to be a critic, — or heroic 
conduct might conquer her. Mediocrity in anything would 
scarcely affect her heart. Extreme physical beauty would 
be a powerful auxiliary in taming her heart to beat for one. 
Her emotion in the presence of the suffering Christ may 
have indicated amply her devotional nature. A gentleman 
by birth and by noble and high-toned conduct, of refined 
tastes and spiritual instincts, of great personal beauty and 
grace of carriage and of address, would be most likely to win 
her favor. She was draped in deep mourning, which t ecame 
her well. The recent death of her father had induced her to 
seek a home with her uncle, the rector of St. Paul’s, — one 
of the most elegant and high-church congregations of the 
city. The Reverend Thomas Delano was a saint, — so said 
the ladies of his congregation, and who shall dispute the 
fx)mpetency of gentle and self-sacrificing women to constitute 


WAAmCK, 


II 


A fair tribunal of canonization ? Certainly his churclh chai> 
acter was all that could be desired, inasnmeh as his name 
was prominently mentioned in connection with a vacant 
bishopric. He was well known to be a supporter and advo- 
cate of the ritualistic movement which was making such tre 
mendous strides in Old England. 

May Delano, after reading for a few minutes, closed the 
book and let it rest in her lap« Her countenance was very 
serious as she gazed into the fire ; for she had been reading, 
in French, the “History of the Spanish Inquisition,” by 
Llorente. The glowing coals seemed to her imagination to 
be the same which shrivelled the fiesh of heretics in the days 
when rival churches burned their enemies at the stake, and 
decided points of doctrine by the axe. The idea of torture 
by fire seemed to her sensitive nerves the most fiendish that 
the malice of men had ever devised. She shuddered at the 
thought, and then, to shake off the unpleasant feelings aroused 
by the book, threw it aside and walked to the window. A 
street-lamp was directly opposite the door of her reverend 
uncle’s residence, and at the instant she pressed her fore- 
head against the window-glass, in the act of looking into the 
avenue, she saw a man run rapidly down the steps of her 
home, and, gaining the pavement, ascend the steps of the ad- 
joining house. In a few seconds she heard the door in the 
next house close as if the man had gone in. Thinking the 
stranger had ascended the steps of her uncle’s residence to 
ascertain the number of the house, she thought no more of 
the matter, and, after peering for a time out into the storm 
returned again to her seat at the fire. At this instant a cry 
reached her ears which made her blood curdle. “ Murder I 
murder I ” It came faintly through the division wall of the 
two houses, but she could not mistake that most fearful of 
all human cries. The sound was immediately followed by a 
heavy fall, and then all was still again. Only the whistling 
of the gale and the rattling of the sleet were heard. She 
stood for an instant paralyzed with terror. Then, darting to 
the front door, she opened it, and called loudly for the po- 
liceman upon that beat. He was passing by at the moment 
of her call,. and, when informed of the fearful sounds which 
had reached her ear, he hastened up the steps of the adjoin- 
ing house. She could hear his loud and continuous jingling 
of the door-bell adjoining, and presently she heard the door 
opened for him. Then all was silence, and she could hear 


14 


WARWICK. 


her heart beat. Shiveriug in the cold breath of the gale, sh€ 
was about to re-enter the house, when a wailing cry broke 
forth close beside her. Then she discovered that a basket- 
had been placed in the narrow space between the two street 
doors of her uncle’s house. In it was an infant, wailing pit- 
eously. 

Fairly shivering with cold and terror at the tragedy being 
c^naoted in the next house, she carried the basket into the 
pfiflor before the fire, and, removing the covering which pro- 
tected the infant, discovered that it was a female child 
apparently only a few weeks old. Its garments were of 
very fine material and elaborately embroidered. She doubted 
not the child had been abandoned at her uncle’s door by 
some one who was aware of the clergyman’s charitable repu- 
tation. Two or three little waifs of similar character had 
been found there before, and she knew they had always been 
baptized and provided for either by the Reverend Thomas 
Delano, or wealthy members of his congregation, to whom he 
had made application in behalf of the young Christians. 
There was no question, in her mind, of the connection be- 
tween this little human deposit and the man who had en- 
tered the adjoining house. Hence her anxiety that the clue 
should not be lost induced her, as soon as she could collect 
her senses from the shock of the murder, to ring the parlor- 
bell vehemently for a serv^ant. At length, after moments 
which seemed to her an age, a servant was aroused from 
sleep, and entrusted with the custody of the infant, who had 
considerately hushed its cries when the fire-light was man- 
ifested to it. May hastened then to the front door, and stood 
in the rain and sleet watching the entrance of the next house. 
The avenue was deserted ; the policeman had not re-issued 
from the adjoining hall. Silence appeared to reign in the 
mysterious dwelling. In a few minutes more a muflied fig- 
ure appeared on the street, with an umbrella^ struggling 
agauist the storm. A cry of relief escaped her. It was her 
uncle. She narrated rapidly the apparition of the stranger 
and the basket, and told him of the murder-cry. He di- 
rected her to come under his umbrella and go intc the next 
house with him. She acquiesced, and directly they stood be- 
fore that fatal door while he rang the bell. There was some 
delay in answering his summons. Then the policeman 
opened the door, and, recognizing him, bade them enter. 

“ There has been some strange work here,” he said $ 


^ARWtCX, 


y 

“very strange. I can*t make it out. The servant wai 
aroused by my ringing the bell, or rather he said something 
falling waked him up, and he heard, he thinks, the cry of 
murder, but he was too scared to move until he heard me 
ring. When I got in the house I went all over with him. 
We found th© gentleman and his wife sound asleep in bed. 
There is no doubt about that. I put my dark-lantern in their 
faces, and they were asleep, sure enough. There are two 
servant girls, and both of them were asleep too. There is 
no sign of blood that I can see, no violence, nothing out 
of the way, except this revolver, which I found lying at the 
head of the first flight of stairs. Nobody here knows its 
owner. See how it is marked. Isn’t that J. H. N. ? ” 

He extended to the clergyman a Colt’s “ five-shooter,” of 
exquisite make, heavily mounted with silver. On the silver 
of the handle were engraved the three letters or initials of 
ownership, as he had said. At this moment the proprietor 
of the house appeared, and, recognizing the Reverend Thomas 
Delano, he said, with the excitement natural to such a 
sudden awakening after midnight : — 

“Heaven knows what it all means, sir I There have 
evidently been two cries of murder heard. Robert was 
awakened by it, and heard some one fall, and I understand 
your niece — I suppose this is the lady — heard it through 
the wall of your house. Suppose we give the house a more 
thorough search.” 

There was not the slightest cause for suspicion in the 
manner of the last speaker ; and, after being joined by his 
wife, the whole party, accompanied by the frightened and 
chattering servants, commenced a diligent search of the 
premises. The gas was at once lighted in every room of the 
dwelling, and no means left untried to ascertain the pres- 
ence of crime. After an investigation of every apartment, 
from cellar to garret, the search was abandoned, and the 
clergyman and his daughter withdrew with the night-watch, 
the latter bearing away with him the mysterious revolver to 
surrender to his superior oflicer. When May Delano had 
made provision for the abandoned child for the night, and 
was leaving her in charge of a servant-maid, it occurred to 
her to examine more closely the child’s garments. In doing 
so she discovered, on a white silk quilt in which the infant 
had been wrapped, embroidered in the comer in delicate 
pharacters, the initials J. H, N, 


u 


IS. 

^0 man! hold thee on in courage of eoul 

Through the stormy shadet of thy worldly wiy, 

And the billows of cloud that around thee roll 
Shall sleep in the light of a wondrous day.” 

In an attic-room of a small house, in the city of Naw 
York, sat a poor author. He was dressed in garments of 
the cheapest material and make; and yet his clothes sat 
easily upon him, and became him well, so perfectly beautiftil 
and accurately proportioned was his manly form, and so 
graceful and unstudied was every movement of his body. 
His height may have been five feet and eleven inches, and 
his broad shoulders indicated unusual muscular power. But 
there was a delicate finish to every limb, and a symmetrical 
rounding of his arms, which terminated in slender, effemi- 
nate hands, white and soft, and graceful as a girrs,^ a firm- 
ness and fulness of his lower limbs, whose ankles were per- 
fect as those of an Apollo, and a perfection of elegance in 
the long, slim feet, which indicated, to a student of nature, 
that the man had spning from a pure and cultivated race of 
men. This idea would be further confirmed by a glance at 
the proud and stag-like poise of the head, with its broad 
white forehead, with its perfect oval of a face, and with the 
fineness and gentle proportion of its features. The hair-was 
a misty, wavy brown, and so silky in its texture that it may 
have been an inheritance from a gentle mother. The eyes 
were large, lustrous, “and deeply, darkly, beautifully blue.” 
They gazed upon a beautiful landscape, or a lovely face with 
a soft, subdued radiance, or they flashed splendor at the 
utterance of a great truth, the enunciation of a heroic deed, 
or the sound of proud, swelling music. There were times* 
too, when a hazy melancholy ruled them, or a sadness filled 
them which would touch a woman’s heart to the quick with 
sympathy. When once a woman had enjoyed a Ml view of 
those dark blue eyes, soft and lustrous as a gazelle’s, and 
watched the varying lines of that small, Adonis mouth, and 
the girlish blonde of the complexion, she would remember 
that face after the lapse of years, and turn to catch stolen 
glances at its wonderful beauty. But to a woman who had 
eqjoyed the presence of that when all the paes^cms of 


WAjatmcK. 


11 


tlie human heart had swept across its features, when the 
consciousness of mental power, the ocean-depth of sympa- 
thy, the rebuff of hauteur, the beam of kindliness, and the 
gentleness of love had been manifest there, there was dan- 
ger, great danger, of that loss which exceeds all other 
losses, — the loss of peace of mind. To most men a vision of 
manly beauty is a joy ; and even for them there is a charm 
in the male human face which may be a secret foe in under- 
mining the citadels of judgment and prudence; but to 
women manly beauty and grace are gods of power, and 
when combined with intellectual and physical valor they are 
omnipotent. This statement refers not to the strength of 
women which is derived from divine grace. 

Consequently, the picture of the poor author, as he sat 
there so solitary and so beautiful, suggested the thought 
and justified the conviction that, whatever might be the re- 
suit of his intellectual struggle with men, he would stand a 
very fair chance to gather female followers to his train. No 
disparagement is intended to the intellectual and spiritual 
appreciation of women. Heaven knows they have frequently 
detected the dawning of genius, fostered the growth of in- 
tellectual power, and encouraged the timid steps of the 
rateur when stupid and bigoted men have turned contemptu- 
ously away, or remained for the purpose of trampling out 
Intellectual life in the struggling. In the realm of contro- 
versy they may be, as a class, non-combatants ; but over the 
field where poets and authors contend for the deification of 
the ideal, the pure, the devotional, the heroic, the sublime, 
and the beautiful, women shine as the holy and glistening 
stars of the heavens to cheer the victors. 

After several hours of diligent writing, with occasional 
episodes of silent reflection, when the blue eyes seemed 
fairly to blaze in the intensity of inspiration as he looked 
upward towards the centre of beauty and power, the author 
laid aside his pen. He was weary. Presently the heavy 
booming of the fire-bell met his ear. He regretted that it 
was not the stroke of the city clock, that he might learn the 
time of night. The old monitor in the church tower is the 
only watch of the poor. He listened, for a time, to the 
heavy, solemn peal of the fire-alarm, and then, glancing 
over his table, noticed the newspaper which had been given 
to him by an acquaintance on the street. He thought to 
examine the headings of the news, and then retire to hid 


18 


WABjnCS, 


“ bunk.” He opened the sheet, which was one of the lead- 
ing literary authorities of the city and State, and read 
silently for a few minutes. Then his eye dilated with sur- 
prise, as he exclaimed : — 

“ My book noticed here, in ‘ The Register * I a long arti« 
cle too. Wonder is crowned king, and poverty stares.” 

He fairly clutched the paper in his eagerness. Was he 
dreaming? Was the flickering lamplight true to its mis- 
sion? His heart leaped up as he read again the title of his 
first-born at the head of the column of literary notices. 
“New Books.” “Murmurs from the Deep Sea; by Icono- 
clast.” 

His eyes hurriedly ran down the column. He soon appre- 
ciated it all. His book was condemned by the critic In 
unmeasured terms of reproach. It was characterized as 
sensational, unhealthy, immoral in its tendencies, and 
“ boshy.” Not one line of approval was given to the book, 
or to any imagery in it. The object evidently was to class 
it so decidedly with the highly flavored sensational issues 
of the day that the tens of thousands of cultivated people 
who looked to that newspaper as their proper guide in select- 
ing works of light literature to while away their leisure 
hours, would never think of looking out for the book again. 
Time is too precious, and the floodgate of light literature 
from the press too wide open, for readers to waste their spare 
hours in the perusal of anything but the real scintillations 
of genius. 

His head was bowed upon his hands, in utter wretched- 
ness and disappointment. All his weary hours of toil had 
been wasted. No publisher would again risk his funds, or 
his reputation for literary discernment, by the publication of 
a work from a source so sternly and ably censured. No 
more hope of gaining bread from literature. The future was 
dark indeed. He who had imagined himself the stem 
champion of virtue in his book was pointed out as the herald 
and caterer of vice. It was too much for flesh and blood, 
too much for a high-toned pride like his, to endure calmly 
and patiently. He trembled from head to foot. His nerves 
were unstrang ; his personal dignity was outraged. He felt 
humiliated, hopeless, frantic with agony. “ O mercifW 
Godl” he gasped out at length, “have pity upon me, 
for men are indeed without mercy I Had they partaken of 
thy divine nature, justice would have been tempered with 


WAMWTCX. 


tt 


mercy. But no ! no I I have done nothing worth}^ of praise. 
The conceptions which to me were pure, exalting my owTi 
life-purposes as I penned them, are misunderstood, or wil- 
fully ignored. What weary nights and days I toiled on, and 
to no purpose ! I shall never rise to honor, never aspire 
again to gain the intellectual temple. O my God, would 
it not be better for me to die now, before life has become so 
embittered by disappointment that right and wrong shaP 
become blended as one and the same thing in my soul I ” 

The exquisite torture of that hour is known only to those 
who aspire after literary fame, and find their efforts turn to 
ashes in their hands. 

Constant Earle was undergoing in that hour of disap- 
pointment no ordinary keenness of mental distress. Ho 
had been born and reared in affl-uence. Carefully and splen- 
didly educated, he had borne away the first prizes of his 

Alma Mater.” As he left the collegiate shades for the 
world of action, men said, “ There goes one of the most 
fortunate young men in this State. He will inherit a large 
share of a large foi-tune. He has an immense circle of 
friends, through his powerful family associations, to aid him 
in life. He has a clear and capacious intellect, he is a close 
and logical reasoner, he has literary taste and appreciation 
of a high order, and he is unquestionably and emphatically 
ambitious. He must and will be an honor to his family 
and to his State.” And what was the result of all this flat- 
tering prediction ? 

At the age of thirty he was in a garret of a great city, 
with starvation shaking her bony Anger at him, with his 
useless book, spumed by the leading literary organ, lying 
beside him, and with his beautifiil head, his manly, intel- 
lectual head, bowed in agony. No doubt his lovely mother, 
from her seat beside the great white throne of God, leaned 
towards him; no doubt her angelic eyes of blue peered 
through the vast realms of space down, down to his lonely 
chamber, and she asked of God to let this flrst and bitter 
chalice of his agony be removed, and that one ray of hope 
might be permit^ to glimmer through the garret, and 
through his heart ; no doubt she feared the wild revulsion 
of a nature like to Ikx “ A scoriae nature God gave them,, 
compounded of glory and shame.” 

By the last will and testament of his father, a renowned 
and affluent merchant of the metropolis, he was entirely 


20 


WAMW70X. 


ignored, and the vast property of the merchant prince wai 
given to the elder son. Even his lovely sister was passed 
by in the distribution of her father’s estate, and the two 
disinherited ones were amazed to find themselves beggars, 
while a brother, who had never been a favorite with their 
father, was enriched; all was given to him with the ex- 
ception of trifling legacies to collateral relatives. Vigorona 
efforts to have the will set aside had resulted in utter failure. 
No one could comprehend the strange disinherison, but the 
singularit^r of the devise was held by the court not to be 
sufficient cause to defeat the testator’s intention. 

The two unfortunates appealed in vain to their brother for 
assistance. The heir was utterly selfish, and turned a cold 
shoulder to their solicitations. The sister found a humble 
home with some poor relations, and finally succeeded in 
earning a scanty living from an employment in a book- 
bindery. The younger brother, whose life had been spent 
in the luxury of his father’s home, or in travelling abroad, 
or in the dissipations of his city club, determined to exert 
his splendid talents in the precarious and arduous employ- 
ment of authorship. 

Luxury had proved fatal to the development of his talents, 
as it has to hundreds in the great city. The promise of his 
collegiate life had not been realized. He had vegetated, — a 
species of literary and refined vegetation, which had brought 
him in contact with books for which he had a natural taste, 
but which had been incompatible with earnest, persevering, 
arduous literary labor, that Hercules which rends from the 
mines omthe hill of knowledge masses of gold, and silver, 
and precious stones. But now famine, actual starvation, 
was impending, and he was forced into the arena of labor. 
His temperament was sanguine, and he buckled on his new 
harness firmly and hopefully. He aspired to fame and for- 
tune. They could hardly elude so powerful a pen as he was 
currently believed to wield. In college he had enjoyed the 
reputation of being the first essayist of his class. After his 
entrance into society, occasional productions from his pen 
had been favorably received, when the political excitements 
of the day had elicited them for the public press. He was a 
resolute soul, and he was not ashamed to toil for his bread. 
But unfortunately he selected that profession in which so 
many gallant barks have stranded or gone down ; launched 
his boat upon that sea, where industry, watchfoLi&dssy 


WAJlfnCK, 


ft 


patience, religious trust in God, constancy, and time are ne 
certain precursors of success. But because it was uncen 
tain, therefore did he select it. The more arduous the strugo 
gle, the brighter the crown for the victor. Thus he reasoned ; 
and, at the termination of his first year’s experiment, he 
found himself occupying quarters in a wretched portion of 
tho city, but startlingly near to the pure stars of heaven. 
It was a miserable attic, and the favorable opportunity of 
studying the eternal planets scarcely atoned for the discom- 
forts of the place. To him a carpet was a fairy tale, a 
proper meal a memory only ; for on a tiny stove, whose pipe 
was suflered to disgorge the smoke through a broken pane 
of his little window, he cooked for himself a chop, and then 
ate it with butterless bread, and washed it down with cold 
water. His palate had been for ten j^ears educated to a 
keen perception of fiavors and relishes. It could scarcely 
be expected that one year’s abstinence from delicacies had 
qualified his stomach to hanker after the crusts of poverty, 
that hell of the gentle and the refined who have fallen to it 
from high places. One after another had the Taluables of 
his personal wardrobe and dressing-table been sacrificed to 
the demands of hunger. His valuable books had followed 
next, till at last he retained the ownership only of his 
motlier’s Bible. She had given him a simple ring shortly 
before her death. This was now his sole visible symbol of 
the mighty monosyllable ‘‘ gold.” He had discreetly in- 
vested the little money in his possession at the time of his 
father’s death, when his poverty was announced to him, in 
writing materials, and a suit of strong, coarse cloth, which 
promised to survive the wear and tear of many seasons. 
The firm and simple fabric had fought a glorious battle with 
the vicissitudes and storms of life ; but now the intricate 
labor of the weaver was rapidly becoming manifest, and the 
suit of brown was fast approaching dissolution. The con- 
dition seedy” had been passed, and the garments were 
separated from the designation or state euphoniously denom- 
inated “ played out,” by the mere forbearance of a nail-head, 
a door-lock, or the ragged edge of a dry-goods box. Never- 
theless so glorious was the physical symmetry of the man, 
80 fastidiously clean his skin from his daily ablutions, sc 
^efully arranged his misty, curly hair, that the suit of 
brown in its reduced condition could not render him beg 
garly, — only sadly, pitiably beautiful. He looked the ptixm 


n 


WAMmCX, 


in distress. Abstinence had reduced the fhlness of his fail 
cheek, but, tine to its ancient medical renown, it had given 
spiritual beauty to his features, greater clearness to his large 
blue eyes, and greater vitality and purer instincts to his 
brain. Sensual indulgences, at the age of thirty, tend to 
render men gross in appearance and grosser still in thought. 
These had been beyond Constant Earle’s reach for an entire 
year. He was too proud to turn to drink for a narcotic for 
his troubles yet, and the fire of ambition was vaulting to his 
eyes too constantly to suffer any rival alcoholic fire to gleam 
from their magic beauty. 

But the matter was becoming really serious. His book 
had been condemned. It would not secure him popular favor. 
His publisher had undoubtedly lost money by its publica- 
tion. What should he do, now, to earn his bread? He 
must seek some clerkship, some place for which he was qual- 
ified. Alas I he knew how diflicult was the accomplishment 
of that feat. He knew that hundreds were seeking employ- 
ment in vain ; that men of education were striving day by 
day to secure some position in which they could display 
their intellectual attainments, some place where they could 
earn something more than the pay of a common day-laborer ; 
and that such were constantly disappointed. After the vio- 
lence of his anguish had passed away, he raised his head 
from the table as the thought occurred to him that he might 
earn enough, as a copyist of law papers, to keep soul and 
body together, until he could wring from the hours proper for 
sleep time enough to complete another book. Perchance, 
in the goodness of God, some kind friend would step forward 
and furnish him sufficient means to secure its publication. 
Another effort was surely proper to be made, when he felt 
within himself such powers of imagination and description. 
The consciousness of genius is the ignis fatuua of its life, 
luring its possessor on through struggles with poverty, and 
contentions with critics, often leading him to a beggar’s 
grave, when, in some humble, unknown sphere of action, he 
might have secured bread, and raiment, and obscurity. Some, 
conscious of their powers, finally subside into the monotr 
onous life of the laborer and the &*udge. Others, untamable 
and ever aspiring, struggle fiercely with their fetters, and 
die at last in the literary harness, poor, weary, broken* 
hearted. Others still, by the intensity of their purpose, 
and maddened by the Inspirations which sweep across their 


iTARWrm, 


!idai't°gtriiigs in melody and beauty, trample upon iae rulet 
of health, and win recognition at the point of the mental bay* 
onet, and then retire to the hospital with diseases of the 
brain, or drag out existence in imbecility. Constant Earle 
resolved to be one of the latter class. With a sigh he looked 
upward to his Creator. “ Only aid me and encourage me 
X) write in the interest of morality and religion, O my 
Father in heaven, and accept at last the broken fragments 
of my health and my strength in partial atonement lor th4 
talents I have trifled with, for the time and the moneys 1 
have wasted, and for the evil I have done myself and others 
by the folly of luxurious indulgence. Thou, O my God 
hadst claim to the lost years of my life. Forgive me 
Hereafter L shall struggle to win men’s hearts to Thee b 
my pen.” 

While the prayer lingered still upon his lips, the tow:., 
clock struck eleven. The night was gloomy and cold, an^ 
yet a rap was heard at his door. When the stranger ha<i 
entered, the author beheld ihe familiar face which haunts 
the abodes of financial distress or poverty. He was con- 
fronted by a Jew. 


C||X{iter SIS. 

Wh»t might b« done, if men were wise — 

Whftt glorious deeds, mj suffering brother, 

Would thej unite 
In lore and right, 

And eoose their soora of one another ! 

OHAaiiBS Maokat 

Thb Israelite was short and muscular, dark-visaged 
occasionally had an expression which suggested that hi was 
cross-eyed, though in fact he was not, there being ^-'niply a 
peculiar cast in his eye, which vanished in a bright light, or 
npon closer inspection. Buying and selling had taught him 
cantlon in restraining his emotions ; every look, every ges- 
ture, every shrug of the Moulders, in incredulity or unc^- 
tiduty, had been carefully studied and employed in the inter- 
est of trade. He could look as unconcernedly upon a new 
Opat wcith at cost price sixty dollars, as upon a half-wom 


14 


fTAJimCK. 


one with the silk linings torn partly out and really worth 
twenty. No brightening of the eye, no nervousness of mo« 
tion, betrayed the fact that he coveted the new glossy texture 
of the one above the dull color of the other. He had a won- 
derful tact in detecting instantl}^ and remarking upon the 
fact, that a new coat had lost a single button, that a slight 
stain had been made upon the bosom of a vest, or that a 
pair of pants had strained two stitches in the seam, although 
it was perfectly obvious that five minutes* labor would make 
each garment as good as ever. He was a buyer of second- 
hand clothing, jewelry, bedding, everything that had a mon- 
ey value and was not animate. The last adjective rendered 
some of his purchases far otherwise than good bargains, for 
some second-hand garments bear with them in their travels 
an animal that “ beats the Jews,** — the quiet, gentle moth. 
He had a practised eye for moth-holes, but these in their in- 
fancy sometimes baffle detection. He had a keen sense of 
smell for camphor, and when this was apparent he quickly 
remarked upon the doubtful character of the garment. The 
smell suggested age and moths in the same instant. He 
always carried the garment in hand to the window, carefully 
scrutinized ih, inside and out, detecting the finger-marks of 
time upon it instantly, and pointing them out with a smile — 
a cunning, humorous smile — of detection, which was apt to 
create mirth, unless the poor victim was too close upon star- 
vation to smile. The value of the choicest material and the 
most elegant make experienced fearful depreciation under 
the inspection and remarks of this German Jew. He was a 
disorganize!', a revolutionist in the circle of legitimate trade. 
His offered prices for second-hand clothes, which had been 
worn only half a dozen times, made a man question the 
morality and integrity of his own tailor. That a coat 
which last week cost sixty dollars in greenbacks should to- 
3ay be worth only five dollars, was an enigma surely. But 
remonstrance was only cut short by the earnest remark of 
the Hebrew : “ I don*t know if I can sell him at all. My 
customers don*t like him cut dis way. I don’t sell to gen- 
tlemen. No sir, dat is honest. Gentlemen go to the tailor 
for their clothes. I sells to common people. I am giving 
you a fair price, sir. I must live, and the clothes business 
Is quite uncertain. I gives you good price. Very good.” 
If a seller was so rash as to expose a whole pile of eeoond* 
hand olotbing for sale, he would receive Uttle for tilMei 


WAstmm. 


indeed. The Jew always desired, after a eareful inspec- 
tion of each garment, to contract for the pile at one price. 
There was only one method of realizing a considerable sum 
of money in large barters svith him, and that was to begin 
with an old pair of socks or a shirt, and sell him up to a coat 
or an overcoat, piece by piece, noting down with a pencil and 
paper every garment sold, and the price, and taking especial 
care that no other garment left its hiding-place till the one 
iu hand was priced and sold. But no matter what amount 
could be wrung from the Jew by such precautions, the 
seller always felt justified in execrating the entire Hebrew 
race when the buyer had departed, loaded down with gar- 
ments which had been sold for one fourth of what they 
were really worth. 

The Hebrew looked cleanly, was comfortably and sensibly 
dressed for one in his business, and appeared to be from 
thirty to forty years of age. He removed his hat upon en- 
tering, bowed very civilly as he said “ good-evening,” but 
declined accepting the only chair in the room, which was 
courteously offered him. The author never forgot that he 
was a gentleman, and, though he knew that his guest had 
plundered him repeatedly in his transactions, he main- 
tained the same quiet courtesy towards him. He never 
disputed the Hebrew’s statements, never reviled his race 
or alluded to his religion. He never for an instant allowed 
the man to think that he suspected him of dishonesty, or 
that he believed him capable of driving hard bargains. If 
he thought the garment under negotiation valued too ridicu- 
lously low, he never remonstrated in loud tones, or made a 
single remark that could possibly ofiend or be remembered 
with bitterness. Nearly every garment that he had pos- 
sessed at the time of his father’s death, the contents of a largo 
and elegant wardrobe, had been sacrificed to the cupidity 
of the Hebrew. An expression of sadness, of disappoint- 
ment, of gloom, sometimes crossed his face at the smallness 
of the price offered him, and the buyer, instantly notic 
ing it, always made some remark in mitigation or explana- 
tion of his terms. “ I am sorry. Mister Earle, that I can’t 
give you more, but really I can’t sell him for much, — I am 
telling you the truth, sir, — I would not deceive you, — 1 
would not lie.” 

And now the man had come, at the request ef the authort 
to buy his last coat and his last pair of pants. With the exc©| * 




m 

tion of the rusty suit of brown in which he was clothed, he had 
no garments for the future. That coat and those pants he had 
saved to the last. It was his dress-suit. It was all that bound 
him to the society of gentlemen, — the few gentlemen who cared 
for him now that he had become so pitiably poor. In that 
suit he had dined with the few kind ones who remembered 
him, and offered to him the courtesy of an invitation. He 
had dined out for the last time. So stern and unrelenting 
was the pride that was born with him, so careful and accu- 
rate had been his observance of fashion and etiquette, that he 
would as soon have entered a gentleman’s dining-room in his 
shirt-sleeves as to have gone there without a dress-coat. 
Nothing could move him from a purpose so essentially a part 
and a result of his character. He was actually and forever 
severing himself from the society of gentlemen. He knew 
it, and he looked inexpressibly sad, gloomy, hopeless. The 
companionship with refinement, elegance, and gentleness was 
being dissolved. There was not a laborer on the face of the 
earth, who was an honest man, with whom ho would have felt 
too proud to sit down and dine. This was not the pride of 
his heart ; but it was that keen sense of the fitness and pro- 
prieties of conduct and dress in refined society which had 
become a part of his nature. He could not change that 
nature. He could do nothing outre. For the best friend he 
had on earth, if really a true friend was left to him now, he 
would not have humiliated himself so far as to dine out with- 
out that dress-coat. There was one goddess for whom he 
reserved his devotion forever, — “Propriety.” This singu- 
larity, this instinct, this pride, can only be comprehended by 
one who is at heart a gentleman. People who are “ dregs ” 
by nature, who are of coarse instincts, and yet clothed in 
fine linen and purple, can no more comprehend this pride, 
this sense of propriety, than ^hey can understand the feeling 
of personal honor, or can know why it is wrong and rude to 
wound the feelings and prejudices of others. 

And thus was Constant Earle relinquishing his hold upon 
that which is dearest to the heart of a gentleman, the society 
and companionship of his peers. It was all over now, and 
his last barter for bread consigned him to fellowship with the 
low, or to entire solitude. He stood silently, sorrowfully, 
before the keen-eyed Hebrew, as the man held up the dress* 
coat to the light, and offered for it the absurd amount “ three 
dolh^rs } ” just one dollar more than he had given already 


WARWICK, 


11 


for the pants. He knew the Jew was inexorable when once 
he had stated his price. He said quietly, but with a tone 
which indicated the most fearful disappointment, “ Take it ; 
you may have it for that price.” 

The Hebrew looked up into that beautiful face which was 
vainly striving to suppress the anguish and the expression 
of despair. The charm of personal beauty must have found 
some cell deep in the heart of this child of Abraham where 
it could find recognition, for he said kindly, as he handed 
Constant the price of the garments, ‘‘I give you all I can ; 
indeed. Mister Earle, I do.” He turned to leave the attic, 
bearing away the gentleman’s last suit ; but the poor author 
called him back, saying, as he extended his hand, “ You are 
going away, probably, for the last time ,* won’t you shake 
hands with me ? I really know nothing about the risks of 
your business, so I have no right to judge you. I believe 
you to be an honest man. Good-by, Rupener.” 

A warmth flashed up to the eyes of the Hebrew. An ex- 
pression of pure human sympathy swept across his face as he 
warmly grasped the proffered hand, and said : — 

“ Mister Earle, you are a gentleman ; your heart is hon- 
est ; you do not hate my people ; I am sorry for you ; you 
always speak so kindly to me. I am a poor man, but when 
j^ou want bread come to me, and ask me to lend you ten, 
twenty, fifty dollar, without any security, and I will do it. 
I believe in you ; I will trust you ; good-by 1 ” 

Without waiting for a reply, and to suppress some mani- 
festation of feeling which had appeared to choke his last ut- 
terances, he opened the door and ran rapidly down the garret 
tftairs. Constant Earle stood silent and amazed. The pure 
Christian kindness and charity of the gentleman’s words had 
melted that heart of stone. His first he turned 

his back upcm society was a Jew. 


wuMoem. 


Sijapter IF. 


What many a childleas one would giro. 

If thou in their still home would'st lire. 

W1L8OH. 

The mysterious occurrences in the two adjoining housei 
on the avenue had the effect of bringing into more intimate 
communion the two families. The Reverend Thomas Delano 
had been acquainted with his neighbors two or three years, 
and knew them to be very worthy and respectable people, 
who had k’ented their dwelling from the agent of the owner, 
who was said to be travelling in Europe. Belonging, how- 
ever, to a different church from their own, he had not chanced 
to be thrown often in their society. His niece, being a new- 
comer in that neighborhood, had never met them until the 
cry of murder brought them so strangely in contact. On the 
day following the abandonment of the infant at the door, 
Mrs. Secor, the new acquaintance of May Delano, came with 
her husband to call upon her, and to have a glimpse also at 
the abandoned child. She was a thin, dark-eyed, gossipy 
little woman, with no pretensions to beauty, and gifted only 
with plain, practical common-sense views of life and duty, 
with a kind heart and a sincere Christian character. She 
had no children, and devoted her life entirely to her husband 
and her church. She was aware that her life-partner was in 
comfortable circumstances, engaged in a lucrative wholesale 
grocery business, and solely intent upon saving money for 
no other apparent purpose than of dying as rich as the gen- 
eral run of merchants in that employment. She appeared 
perfectly content to second him in this idea, and lived com- 
fortably enough, but without pretensions to ^yle, society, or 
display. Her most luxurious indulgence was an occasional 
tea-party, where she displayed to her friends her fine silver- 
plate, her talents in the art of preserving fruit, and her 
budget of church and society gossip. She was simply a type 
of the ordinary run of ladies 'who attend a fashionable city 
church, and never aspire to be leaders in that church, from 
the simple fact that they possess only the talents of followers, 
and are inherently humble and pious. 

For her morning call she was arrayed in a biaok sUk draas 


WAjtmcx, 


n 

and elegant camePs-hair shawl, the last a gift from her hus- 
band, and her smooth, dark hair was theoretically covered 
with one of the diminutive, black velvet, bugle-fringed scraps 
of the day, denominated bonnets, She wore kid gloves of a 
drab hue. There was nothing about the little woman that 
could in any way entitle her to the appellation “ striking ; 
and, as she stood for a moment before the sofa in the act of 
meeting May Delano, who swept into her uncle’s drawing- 
room with the simple dress of a mourner and the port of a 
princess imperial, a spectator could scarcely have avoided the 
reflection that, however un-American and obsolete the doc- 
trine, some people were surely intended to outrank and to 
rule the masses. 

The sudden and informal meeting of the past night, in 
the dwelling of her guest, unquestionably tended to soften 
the reserve and hauteur of Miss Delano’s reception. Never- 
theless Mrs. Secor was sufiBciently impressed by the elegance 
of the young lady’s manner, to realize fully that precipitate 
familiarity would be ill-advised and impolitic. She was, 
however, soon put at her ease by that gentleness of tone 
and address which characterize the true lady upon all proper 
occasions of courtesy, and when her husband had been also 
received, and turned over to the attentions of the Reverend 
Thomas Delano, who soon entered, she found that the mo- 
tives of her visit were thoroughly appreciated and well re- 
ceived by the heiress. In response to her suggestion that 
she had been familiar with the care of infants, while residing 
with her sister, who was the mother of a large family, and 
that she would be happy to be allowed the privilege of tak- 
ing care of the little waif until suitable arrangements could 
be made for a permanent disposal of it, the heiress in- 
formed her that the Reverend Thomas Delano was aware 
that a wealthy merchant of his congregation was anxious to 
adopt an infant, and finally leave all his property to it, pro- 
vided a child could be found who would answer all his 
requirements regarding personal beauty and intelligence. 
There was little doubt that this gentleman would be satis- 
fied with the personal attractions of the little stranger. At 
all events his decision would be known before nightfall, as a 
note had been despatched to him by her uncle early that 
morning. It was probable, moreover, that the merchant was 
already on his wa}’ to the clergyman’s residence. Mrs. Secof 
was invited to visit the child in an upper chamber. 


so 

The two ladiesj leaving the gentlemen in conversation, ad 
cended to the apartment where a hired nur^ had the infant 
in charge. No sooner had the eyes of Mrs. Secor fixed 
themselves upon the face of the child, who was held in the 
arms of the nurse, near to the grate fire, than she exclaimed 

“ Why, that is the perfect image of the Earle family. It 
looks exactly like Montrose Earle, who owns the house in 
which we live. The eyes are most assuredly his. The other 
features are more beautiful ; still there is a decided resem- 
blance. I have seen a picture of his mother, and this child 
is like her, remarkably like her. She is dead, but she was a 
most excellent lady. Do you know the family ? 

“ I never heard the name even,” was the quiet response. 
“ I never resided in the city until after my father^s death. 
Probably^ my uncle knows them.” 

“ Yes, yes,” replied Mrs. Secor. “ Ever;t old resident of 
New York knows the Earles. They have been wealthy for 
several generations. But the last merchant was very prom- 
inent here. He was a bolder speculator than his father, 
and the money accumulated very rapidly in his hands. But 
he died rather suddenly, and disinherited his daughter and 
younger son ; nobody knows why. The eldest son got every- 
thing ; he owns our house. He is a singular being ; he hates 
his own flesh and blood, and won’t give them a cent. The 
brother and sister are wretchedly poor. Still he is a very 
excellent and accommodating landlord; he has been so 
very kind and civil to us, that my husband has been per- 
suaded to let him have apartments in our house on the sec- 
ond floor. He has been fitting them up for some months ; 
but he has not come yet to occupy them. You recollect 
we unlocked several doors on the south side of the upper 
hall in the second story when we were searching last night. 
Well, those are to be his rooms. He is going to have his 
meals brought to him from a restaurant. The house is, too 
large for us, and he . makes a great reduction in our rent. 
And this baby — you poor little pussy I you pocu* little dear 
thing I — yes, you look just like him — you do, you do. The 
eyes are his sure, What a fright I had last night I Is it not 
the strangest occurrence you ever did hear of? ” 

“ Is he married f*’ inquired Miss Delano. 

“ Oh, no’; a bachelor, a confirmed bachelor ; but very civil 
to ladies, I believe. This house of ours was built by his 
grandfather. He was wealthy, too, and a good maw to tht 


trJftmcx* 


VI 


^oc3T, — SO Fve heard, at least. Did you notice what taste 
Montrose Earle has? Oh, of course you didn’t; you were 
too excited. But those rooms we went over last night are 
filled with pictures and cabinets and everything that is beau- 
tiful. He has been putting them in there for months. If 
you will come over some day before he takes possession you 
will be amused in examining his rooms. Everything is perfeo' 
in its way. Do come, and you may see many rare things 
I have the keys, and I often have curiosity enough to go in 
there and look around.” 

May Delano had been listening attentively to her remarks, 
but all the while keeping her eyes fixed upon the infant, as 
its little head bobbed back and forth in its helplessness as 
the nurse held it up to the fire. But something besides Mrs. 
Secor’s remarks had been engaging her attention also. She 
was endeavoring to follow out a clue in her own mind ; she 
had seen somewhere a resemblance to this infant. She felt 
confident of that fact. Before her guest had finished her run- 
ning commentary upon the Earle family the broken links of 
memory were reunited. She remembered when and where 
she had seen a likeness of the child. The little waif was, 
without question, a perfect fac-simile of the suflfering, ago- 
ni 2 ed Clirist scourged at the pillar, only the little face was 
peaceful. Repose had settled upon the features. So must 
that Christ have appeared in his infancy as he sat in the lap 
of Mary, or swayed back and forth in her protecting ai’ms. 

By some singular fatality there was at that moment, be- 
neath her uncle’s roof, a painting wrought by a master-hand 
in some foreign clime, — an imaginary Christ, the ofispring 
of an artist’s brain, — and an infant which that artist never 
could have known, whose features were like a miniature copy 
of that foreign ideal. Could it be that Montrose Earle, the 
selfish, unfeeling wretch who had spumed his own brother 
and sister and left them to die of privation and starvation, 
could have been made in the likeness of that exquisite face 
which looked from the walls of her uncle’s oratory? Was it 
possible that so contemptible a soul could be enclosed in a 
casket so beautiful, so pure, so ideal ? She longed to see the 
man. A few brief hours had seen a star rise into her ideal 
heaven so transcendently lovely that every other star was 
eclipsed. Must that exquisite conception of the artist be 
forever dimmed by the knowledge that a similar face existed 
wi^ose perfect features were only a nmsk to a mean, co^ 


WAJtmcx* 


temptible soul? It could not be. And yet she could not 
exliibit to her guest the secrets of the oratory. She could 
not bring Mrs. Secor face to face with the image scourged at 
the pillar, and demand to know if Montrose Earle resembled 
that divine loveliness. She had been herself an intruder 
there, and, perchance, her uncle would be deeply offended at 
her presumption and indelicacy. She could only remain 
silent and wait until chance brought this unfeeling brother 
before her eyes. Curiosity prompted her to accept Mrs. Se- 
cor’s invitation to visit the apartments intended for this man. 
The veil of privacy had not yet been thrown over the en- 
trance to those rooms. The divine face in the oratory had 
haunted her dreams. The eyes and mouth of the abandoned 
child recalled that painting so vividly that she longed to 
look upon one who was said to resemble the child. Here 
was mystery enough to arouse her female curiosity. She 
must and would look upon the face of Montrose Earle. 
This would, no doubt, be a matter of easy accomplishment, 
since he jvas soon to become their neighbor. In the mean 
time there could be no harm in inspecting these singular 
apartments. There was little doubt in her own mind that 
from these apartments had issued that fearful cry which had 
chilled her blood. Foul play had been going on there ; and; 
though impenetrable mystery shrouded the deed, she could 
not have been mistaken in that last scream of mortal agony. 
Some one had gone to his last account, and every trace of 
the murdered man had disappeared, and his murderer, too, 
had fled. The criminal had escaped and hidden his victim. 
May Delano felt confident that her own sleeping-room, on 
the second floor of her uncle’s house, was divided from the 
scene of a murder by only the thickness of the division wall 
of the two houses. Had she been sitting at the time in her 
own room, no doubt she would have heard still more dis- 
tinctly the fatal transaction. She expressed her gratitude to 
Mrs. Secor for the privilege offered of again inspecting Mon- 
trose Earle’s apartments, and intimated her wish to avail 
herself of that offer on the ensuing morning. After several 
minutes had been spent in the inspection of the infant, and 
Mrs. Secor had made some suggestions in regard to its treat* 
ment, the ringing of the street-bell admonished them that the 
merchant had probably arrived to examine the child with 
reference to its adoption. A servant Suon confii'med this 
surmise, the nurse was directed to bear her little ohargQ 


ftTAJifncx, 


to the drawing-rooms below. The two ladies followed her 
downstairs, and into the presence of the trio wlio were 
awaiting them. 

The clergyman was standing at the moment of their en* 
trance with his arm resting upon the marble mantel-piece. 
He was a tall, thin man, with clear gray eyes and a remark- 
ably serious and thoughtful countenance. There was nothing 
stern in his manner or features ; still one could not look upon 
his thin, dark hair carelessly brushed back from his forehead, 
his pale and almost emaciated face, and his thin, white lips 
tightly compressed, without being impressed with the 
conviction that a sense of duty was uppermost in his 
thoughts, and that he was struggling through self-denial, 
abstinence, purity and charity of life, to win the favor of 
God. His demeanor was quiet and unassuming, his voice 
calm and modulated like low, sweet notes of music, and every 
movement of his limbs graceful and easy, indicating his de- 
scent from the same elegant and aristocratic stock as his 
niece. But it would not be just to form an opinion of the 
Reverend Thomas Delano’s character and abilities from the 
calm, easy, thoughtful manner of the man in his own di’aw- 
ing-room. In his ecclesiastical character he was a power, a 
man of great eloquence in his pulpit, endowed with ripe 
judgment in his dealings with men, and impressing upon the 
female portion of his congregation with irresistible force the 
coETiction that he was not afraid to attempt anythiug which 
he believed to be conducive to the honor and glory of God. 
He was not a sycophant of principalities and powers. He 
was no worshipper of wealth or station. He was an honest 
clergyman seekimg to serve God. Although a known advo- 
cate of the modifications in the service of the Church of Eng- 
land suggested by the Ritualists, he was respected by his 
ecclesiastical opponents for his sincerity, his zeal, and his 
learning. No one questioned his motives, and his life was 
well known to be crowned with good works, devotion, and 
energy. 

In conducting the services of his church he was simply 
and grandly beautiful in his utterances. His clear, sweet, 
eloquent voice, as it broke forth in the sublime language of 
his ritual, thrilled every listener and hushed every distracting 
thought. He had come to worship the King of kings. 
felt it, and respected him for it. Little children loved to 
look into his calm gray eyes, and listen to his words of ad^ 


H 


WAJimcn:, 


monition. The sick yearned for the sound of his voica 
The mourners instinctively hushed the wail of anguish as ht 
passed near. He was the friend of God, and God had af- 
flicted them. He was a light, a comfort, a joy. He stood 
forth in the midst of a selfish world, unselfish, gentle, re- 
fined in his tastes, beautiful and cultivated in his pursuits, 
heroic in his life, a pure Christian priest and gentleman. 
And thus he stood leaning upon the marble mantel, and ear 
nestly studying with hia clear eyes the effect upon his mer- 
chant Mend of the little girl whom Heaven had given him 
the disposal of; the little waif whom he was to start on the 
road to purity, and peace, and an angel’s crown 

Motherless, fatherless, and beautiful, the little child rolled 
its deep blue eyes upon the merchant, the Christian, the 
friend, who had come to study it. It is very sad to be friend- 
less and alone. The adult who is destitute of friends is 
pitiable enough. His or her lot is hard, God knows. But 
alas for the tiny, innocent, gentle life abandoned to the 
world I Some hearts there are, which do not beat in the 
breasts of mothers, which can pity the poor little foundling. 

The gentleman who stepped forward curiously to examine 
the face of the little infant was a bachelor. He was a re- 
tired merchant. He could not have seen over fifty winters ; 
still his dark and smoothly brushed hair was thickly flecked 
with gray, Hia eyebrows were wonderfiilly long and heavy 
and gray. Beneath them looked forth keen, restless eyes, of 
a light hazel hue, sparkling, and ever roving, like his thoughts 
and his conversation. He was thin and pale, nervous in 
every movement, and always on the alert. Nothing escaped 
his notice. He was closely shaven, the only beard allowed 
to gi’ow being below his chin, — a broad tuft of gray hair to 
protect his throat. He possessed a fine, erect, military 
figure. He looked like a soldier, and his looks did not be- 
lie him. While a youth his adventurous spirit had sent him 
as a volunteer upon one of the wild and generous expeditions 
which sailed from the city of New York, to aid one of the 
South Ameiicau republics in their struggles for liberty. 
Rumor had it that he won a name for reckless daring at 
that early age. Subsequently he found employment in one 
of his own country’s wars as a soldier, and then as an officer, 
He was prominent as a staff-officer of a distinguished gen- 
eral of the United States Army from the State of New York 
during the Southern rebellion. He had accumulated weeltk 


rrjnwnfsr. 


m 

In his business^ being exceedingly methodical and entei^^ 
prising; but his natural military spirit and his wonderful 
powers of combination and organization hurried him at times 
into the camp and the political arena. In both positions he 
was distinguished. He had now abandoned the military am- 
bition, and was a prominent and admirable political partisan 
and leader. He was a tower of strength to his friends. He 
loved them excessively, and no labor, no sacrifice, no vigi- 
lance, no ekill, was wanting when they were to be served. He 
seemed nobly and generously to live for them. His memory 
of a promise, no matter how trivial the occasion, was prover- 
bial. He loved his political party from principle, and he knew 
its history. He was a scholar, a constant reader, a friend of 
churchmen, a friend of the struggling. He was plain and 
simple in his dress, and in the presence of ladies absolutely 
charming. It was a pleasant fact in his life that he respected 
and venerated women, this active, earnest, candid partisan 
and friend, who despised affectation and snobbery as he 
despised Pluto. He believed firmly in the intellectual power 
and the management , and tact of the fair sex. At times 
Colonel Baldgrave indicated weakness in the throat or lungs, 
which caused his friends anxiety ; still his powers of recuper- 
ation were wonderftil. The painful cough would pass away. 
His friends, who loved him dearly, would smile again, and he 
was ready once more for activity, kindness, generosity. 

Such was the well-known, straightforward, earnest mer- 
chant who came at the call of the Reverend Thomas Delano 
to look upon the Uttle gfrl, gather the few facts of her brief his- 
tory, and decide whether or not she should become the inmate 
of the house and the heiress of the property of the Bald- 
graves. 


chapter V. 

afuae aa iafaat met ear sim, 

ijMMabled * 11 , *« suob ereat reqairei; 

Frequent »nd fall the rar*l isages 

Asd ifMkers man/ urged the long debeie. 

OaeBaa. 

Thoi fidr^ blue-eyed baby, with its thin, silky hair of 
golden hue, its round, plump shoulders, and its tiny 


WAltWTCK, 


clineheit as if instinct taught it that hands are made 

for warfare with the world, looked like some pure and gentle 
spirit from the world of light. She was robed in soft, misty 
white. The long dress was richly embroidered on the skirt 
and bosom in the semblance of ivy-leaves. Strange sym- 
bol this on the robe of an abandoned child I for ivy, in the 
language of flowers, typifies wedded love. Could the aban- 
doned child be legitimate ? This was the reflection of one 
only of the group that clustered about the infant, and that 
one was May Delano. Her instincts were poetical, and for 
ner soul every leaf and every flower had its meaning. 
Could the mother of the baby have remembered the symboli- 
cal meaning when her fingers diligently worked the white 
silk in the form of the ivy-leaf? The same pattern was ex- 
hibited also on the white merino shoes in which the baby’s 
feet were cased. Everything appertaining to the infant in- 
dicated that the source from which she sprang was refined 
and elegant. The delicate coral necklace which circled her 
throat, and the coral chains which looped up her short 
sleeves, were exquisitely delicate in their pink hue and the 
fineness of their workmanship. The neck and sleeves of the 
dress, and its hem, were edged with Valenciennes lace of un- 
questionable richness and value. The cap, too, which had 
been foiincl upon the child, was a perfect mine for the devel- 
opment of Valenciennes lace. It had been removed, but the 
nurse had brought it to the drawing-room for exhibition to 
Col. Baldgrave. She had brought to his presence, also, the 
child’s white merino cloak, padded with eider down, and 
lined with white silk elegantly quilted. Tno white silk 
quilt, also, in which the infant and its wardrobe had been 
wr^ped, had been produced for his inspection, and that he 
might read, in the corner, the mysterious initials, J, H, N. 

The little stranger and her wardrobe were in striking 
contrast with the sombre dresses of the group about her. 
The wet-nurse, Mrs. Campion, who held her for the colonel’s 
inspection, was a dark-eyed, dark-haired woman of thirty, 
of medium height, fully and finely developed, but clad in 
deepest mourning. The heiress, too, was draped in black, 
and Mrs. Secor’s shawl scarcely relieved the blackness of her 
own silk dress and bonnet. Mr. Secor, short, red-haired, 
fat, and fifty, was dressed in black, as also were the clergy- 
man and the colonel. The little waif was like a sun-gleam 
ta a circle of storm-clouds. As the merchant, in his onrioa' 


WAMmOK, 


87 

and interest, bent over her, the bright, blue eyes dilated 
upon his face, and the fairy mouth uttered a faint “coo, 
ooo ” of reception. The fearlessness of the child, and her 
apparent delight at sight of him, seemed to please him, foi 
he passed his hand gently across her forehead, and said : — 

“ You don't seem to fear me, pretty one. Would you like 
to come to me ? ” 

She evidently was too young to comprehend the “ invita- 
tion " of the arms which he extended to her, and so she fell 
back upon her actual and limited experience for a reply, 
and enunciated again her faint “coo, coo.” There was 
amity indicated by the reiteration of the infantile monosyl- 
lable, and upon this base he made another advance. He 
took her from the arms of the nurse, and walked up and 
down the drawing-room with her. She was perfectly com- 
placent and satisfied. From inexperience in the art of bal- 
ancing infantile flesh, he found that she was not sitting as 
gracefully or comfortably in his arms as she had been in 
the embrace of the nurse. Nevertheless she made no com- 
plaints; and her little head bobbed against his shoulder, 
or outward again into space, as if it was all the same tocher 
whether she was balanced properly, or whether her neck 
snapped off in his perambulations. There was no little 
merriment among the spectators at the colonel's awkward 
attempts at nurse-playing, and Miss Delano remarked : — 

“You succeed admirably, colonel, as a nurse; but she 
tolerates much out of the goodness of her heart. Let her 
head rest against your shoulder, and she will appear to bet- 
ter advantage. That's right ; now she can look at you.” 

At her suggestion the merchant had contrived to drop 
the little head against his arm, and the child now looked up 
into his face, with her clear, blue, wondering eyes. In a 
moment after she uttered again her gentle “coo, coo.” To 
his kind heart this brief remark went directly, and he ex- 
claimed : — 

“ I like your conversational powers exceedingly. If you 
will never utter any harsher word through life than that I 
believe we can get along very well together. But, tell me, 
nurse, are these only company airs she is patting on? Does 
she never cry?” 

“ I can't answer for that, sii‘ ; it's not long, as you know, 
sir, that we've been acquainted. But I wiU say that a better . 
child, amd a quieter, 1 never saw, — at least, l^afa her style 


WAMWmML 


$$ 

to-day. She seems very fond of yoa, sir ; she noTer takes 
her eyes off ye.’* 

“Do you think so, nurse?” inquired the merchant, unable 
to conceal his exultation at this sudden display of infantile 
friendship, and still keeping his eyes fixed upon the won- 
dering face of the infant. 

“ No doubt of it, sir. I don’t believe she would go to any 
of these other genliemen. Suppose you try it, sir.” 

“ Well, we’ll see about that,” replied the colonel. “Here 
Mr. Delano, you take her. Will you go to this gentleman, 
little one?” 

He held the child up to the clergyman, who smilingly ex- 
tended his arms. The eyes of the child for a moment 
seemed amazed at the proposition, and with dignified reserve 
she remained silent. But when the Reverend Thomas Del- 
ano actually took her from the merchant, and sought to 
caress her, the tiny mouth pursed up into the most distress- 
ing indication of grief, and directly she commenced to cry 
piteously. It was evident the future young lady would not 
have strong predilections for the church. And so the cler- 
gyman remarked as he returned the child to the colonel. 
She ceased her complaints the instant she was restored to 
his arms, and he laughed his quick, humorous laugh, and 
said ; — 

“ That was a distinguished failure, to be sure. Now sup- 
pose we try this gentleman. Here, Mr. Secor, it’s your turn 
now.” 

He held the baby out to the vender of groceries. The 
child absolutely screamed out at the vision of red hair and 
fat which offered to take her. It was evident that auburn 
hair in its exaggerated form would not belong to her future 
ideal. And failure number two was emphatically noted by 
the group which encircled her. She returned to the colonel’s 
embrace, and in a few seconds her sobs ceased. Her tears 
(fried up and her blue orbs emerged from the mist of them 
like violets from the rain which has freshened their beauty. 
X he colonel was in ecstasy. He exclaimed : — 

“ Dry goods, war, and politics are triumphant. What an 
eye for silks and'satins, velvets and laces, poplins and gren- 
adines, she will have I Military buttons will thrill her vision, 
and statesmen will enchant her. Here is a little woman 
that promises to be natural and sincere from her cradle. 
Qentlemen, I your pardon, but this child belongs to ms 


WAMinxm. 


from choice, from taste, and from appreciation. No ^ reveiv 
end sir, yon have a duty to perform. I will adopt t-iis little 
innocent, and she shall never want. She must be baptized 
right away, and I will call her after a very dear friend who, 
I believe, is now in heaven. She shall be named Florence. 
How do you like that name. Miss Delano ? ” 

He turned with his quick, nervous manner to the heiress, 
still retaining his hold upon the infant. May Delano waa 
his pet, the daughter of his old friend/ and companion, 
Horace Delano. By some singular magnetism, the beautiful 
aristocrat and the plain, impetuous, democratic merchant 
and politician were fast friends. They buried conflicting 
Ideas when together, and esteemed each other highly, 
warmly. There is a certain affinity between honest convic- 
tions, no matter in what material guise they are separated 
from each other. She believed in the inherent necessity for 
ranks and classes. He was of a different school of thought. 
But they respected and loved each other for the sincerity 
and integrity of their respective lives. How near would be 
the millennial period did churches imitate the two friends, 
and look only at the bright side of each other's character I 

As the merchant propounded his interrogatory he looked 
with his keen, hazel eyes at the heiress, who had drawn near 
to her reverend uncle at the mantel, and now stood with her 
arms looped affectionately through his arm held akimbo. 
She replied, after a minute's hesitation, and candidly, but 
with the same easy address and refined tone which ever 
characterized her : — 

“ I do not like the name ; perhaps because it has no asso- 
ciations for me. I confess to a penchant for appropri- 
ate and beautiful names for everything human and natural. 
I could not love a lily by any other name. The sweetness 
and gentleness of the sound suggest to my mind slender 
beauty. Here is an exquisite child, with every indication 
of gentle birth, with rare beauty and with natur^ sweetness 
of temper, abandoned, and yet left where it is well known 
that Christianity has a foothold. Pardon me for my singular- 
ity ; but you have appealed to my taste. To the artist or 
the architect, the name Florence may be suggestive of many 
things noble and memorable. But what has this little chUd 
to do with them? Colonel, take my advice, and call her 
Violet. Look at her eyes, what 'are they but violet of th« 
purest shade? Do you know what poets say about 


40 


WASmCK, 


the language of the violet? They say it signifies ‘ faithftii 
ness,* What do you want in life but that same quality! 
You want something to be ever faithful to yon in life, and to 
bloom beside your grave in watchfulness. You are alone, 
and God has sent this flower to you, this violet. Already 
its roots have taken hold in your heart. It is evident she 
will love you. If you want her to be faithful to you, call her 
Violet. She will be faithful to you in life, she will be faith- 
ful to your memory ; for the chances are she will survive 
you. She will carry out your wishes after death. The poet 
says, ‘ The grave of all things hath its violet.* Take my 
advice, colonel, call her Violet, the emblem of ‘faithful- 
ness.* ** 

There came just the faintest flush of enthusiasm into her 
fair cheek as she warmed with her subject, and the merchant 
thought he had never seen her quite so beautiful before. She 
ceased, and looked inquiringly at him for the effect of her ap- 
peal. He looked undecided for a moment until Mrs. Secor 
expressed her emphatic endorsement of Miss Delano’s sug- 
gestion. 

“ I agree with Miss Delano,** she said. “ Why not call 
children by beautiful names when there are so many at com- 
mand? If I had childi'cn I would name them either from 
the flowers of the field, or the beautiful names of the Scrip- 
tures.** 

“ There are jaw-breaking names enough in the Bible, 
Heaven knows,** replied the colonel, tartly. “ But what do 
you say, sir?** he inquired, turning to the clergyman, but 
still keeping his look fixed upon the infant. 

The ;^verend Thomas Delano smiled, as he said, gently, 
“ I confess to a fancy for the ancient custom of naming 
children after the saints. Baptized children are the property 
of the church, and I believe in starting them in life with 
some holy name which properly designates them as being of 
the fold of the one Shepherd.** 

The merchant shook his head doubtfully. This last sug 
gestion did not find much favor. After a few minutes* re- 
flection he interrupted the conversation, which had become 
general, by the sudden remark, “I incline favorably to the 
name Violet, and upon reflection I will decide and do decide 
ttiat she shall be baptized Violet.** 

He had given in as he had done a thousand times before 
to the influence of his pet Mend, May. He rather lijM 


ITAMWiCM. 


41 


to bo ruled by her, or as he would have expressed it 
“ guided.” 

After some fUrther consultation regarding the infant, — 
during which the colonel secured the services of Mrs. Cam- 
pion to reside with him, and take care of little Violet, — it 
was decided that, in a few days, the baptism should take 
place privately in the church, under the supervision of the 
Reverend Thomas Delano, and that the clergyman’s niece 
should stand as godmother of the child, and a brother of 
the merchant as godfather. Finally Mr. Secor and his 
wife took leave, and the merchant followed them, after as- 
signing an hour when it would be convenient for the nurse 
to bring the child to its new home. He declared that it was 
essential that his house-keeper should be apprised of the 
advent of the little adopted one, as she would be very apt 
otherwise to be sensational in her conduct. It was necessary 
to prepare her mind for this startling event, and to mollify 
her in advance. She was faithful and efficient, but gifted 
with prejudices and whims. And so the party in the draw- 
ing-room broke up. 

When the nurse had withdrawn with her charge. May 
Delano approached her uncle, who was standing before 
the window, and looking thoughtfully out into the avenue, 
and laying her hand softly upon his arm, said : — 

“ I want a moment’s confidence with you, dear uncle ; or, 
rather, I want to solicit your pardon for an indiscretion.” 

There was little of humility in her tone, to indicate that she 
felt great consciousness of guilt. That vague quality of the 
penitent, humility, was a rare development in the character 
of the Delano family. Still there was something of uneasi- 
ness in her voice and manner which attracted his instant 
attention, for he turned quickly, and looked earnestly at 
her. Then, laying his hand aflectionately upon her shoul- 
der, he said, pleasantly : — 

“That must be a novel position for you, May, — soliciting 
pardon. You are so wonderfully discreet generally. I am 
not sure that I would not like you better if you had sins 
like ordinary people, — that is, weaknesses. I would feel more 
as if you were a companion for a sinner like me. You are 
too good, niece ; but I am afraid you are brooding too much 
aver the loss of your father. It is not well, I assure you, 
het your heart cling to new idols. Go out more, and n 
}^. Bring some pleasant companion into the house, 


WAMWICK 


IS 

- — well! I can’t say, be moi*e cheerful; for you are thi 
impersonation of cheerfulness. But be younger, — more in- 
terested in the worl i. You are qualified for immense use- 
fulness, if 50U will but assimilate yourself more to the 
thoughts and interests of society. God has designed you 
for the world ; therefore, serve him in the world. Do you 
understand me in the spiritual sense ? ” 

“ Perfectly,” was the calm response. “ But that was not 
the subject upon which I came to talk. I have done wrong ; 
perhaps I have, — it is a vague idea I have of my offence. 
Still, I am uneasy. I have been spying out the secrets of 
your oratory.” 

“ And is that all ? ” was the response. “ Do you conceive 
me to be a Bluebeard, who locks up mysteries that the only 
child of my brother may be entrapped into ruin by her curi- 
osity ? Why, May, I haven’t a secret in my house from you. 
You may roam up and down it at will, read my books, open 
my drawers, and read my letters, too, if you like. I have 
so much faith in your discretion that I never would think of 
keeping anything from you that could be of the least interest 
to you. I was jesting, merely, when I spoke of my sanctum 
sanctorum. Several of my parishioners visit that oratory 
frequently ; and how could I think of admitting them, and 
excluding my own niece ? Nonsense 1 ‘ Perfect love casteth 

out fear.’ I have none now to love but you. You are wel- 
come to every part of my house, — no reservation in that 
welcome.” 

“ Dear uncle,” was the earnest reply, “ I feel relieved, 
perfectly relieved. But, tell me, are you authorized by the 
regulations of the church to employ a confessional ? Do you 
really hear confessions, and pronounce absolution?” 

“Why not. May? A few, not many, come to me bur- 
dened with the consciousness of sin. They feel that they 
require counsel from one whom they believe to be the agent 
of God. To them it is a relief to think they are literally 
conforming to the direction of Scripture, to confess their 
sins one to another. They would shrink from uttering in 
the church, in the public and general confession of sin 
which all the congregation make every Sunday in a loud 
tone that every one might hear, the secret sins which would 
doom them to the contempt or reproach of their neighbors. 
Flesh and blood are not equal to a public confession of indi^ 
?|dual sins. Therefore, when such weary, heavy-laden 




41 


0dind to me, I listen to them, encourage them, direct and 
counsel them. If they are penitent, I forgive them in the 
name of God. ‘ Verily I say unto you, whatsoever ye shall 
bind on earth shall be bound in heaven ; and whatsoever ye 
shall loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.* ** 

“ But, uncle, is it not detrimental to good order and uni* 
formity, that one clergyman should introduce customs and 
observances which another will not, no matter how innocent 
those departures from the established forms^may be? ** 

“ May,** responded her uncle, “ leaving Out of the argu- 
ment whatever may be pertinent to public observances, what 
harm can there be in affording relief to anxious souls, in 
that quiet, unobtrusive way which can occasion no one any 
scandal who is not concerned, and which yet is a consolation 
and a comfort to those over-sensitive, troubled consciences, 
which need something more than generalization and pub- 
licity in the confession and absolution of sin? We can 
pronounce absolution in the church. Can we not pronounce 
it privately, quietly, if thereby some souls may be assisted 
and saved?** 

She stood beside him, thoughtful and silent. After a long 
pause she said, “ I do not see .why you cannot, in accordance 
with the laws of logic. I must think of it fUrther.** She 
turned from him, and swept slowly out of the room. 


He with the Magi turned the hallowed page 
Of Zoroaster; then his towering soul 
iUgh on the plnmes of contemplation soared^ 

And from the lofty Babylonian fane 

With learned Chaldeans traced the mystic sphere. 

OLoymu 

On the following day May Delano stood in the hall of 
Mrs. Secor*s residence, awaiting with much curiosity the 
opening of the door which would afford ingress to the apart- 
ments reserved for the future use of Montrose Earle. She 
littd Uirqwn ovmr her monmlBg dress a black velvet c1x>a1^ 
imi ll«t (^tEit^ng chestnut hair wad pa^Mally hidden by s 


44 


WAMWSOK, 


black bonnet. One slender hand, cased in an aocuratelj^ 
fitting black kid glove, rested upon the oaken banister of 
the principal staircase of the dwelling. The hall of the mano 
sion was spacious, and oaken doors opened into apartments 
on either side. The house had evidently been built many 
years ; probably at a period when real estate was not extrav- 
agantly high, and when economy of space in building had 
not been the principal care in planning the structure. The 
antiquity of the edifice was further suggested by the dark 
shade which the solid oak doors and the banisters had as- 
sumed, and also by the old-fashioned carving on the tops and 
sides of the door-frames. Miss Delano had time to note par- 
ticularly these peculiarities as she stood silently awaiting 
Mrs. Secor’s movements. The latter lady had conducted her 
visitor up the stairs to the hall in the second story, but ex- 
perienced some difficulty in finding among the bunch of keys 
which she carried with her the right one to admit them to the 
private apartments. After several failures she succeeded in 
fitting the proper key to its place, and, with an exclamation 
of satisfaction at her final success, she gave it a quick turn 
and flung open the door. The apartment into which they 
entered was quite dark ; at least it appeared so to the young 
lady, who had just come from the bright sunlight of the ave- 
nue. But in a few seconds Mrs. Secor had raised the win- 
dows and opened all the shutters of the entire suite of rooms, 
and Miss Delano was amazed to find herself standing in one 
of the most luxurious apartments she had ever seen. Not- 
withstanding the fearful excitements of the night of her 
former visit, she had appreciated to a certain extent the rich- 
ness and beauty of this singular individuars sanctum. But 
then the search had been hurried and horrified by the possi- 
bility of meeting at every turn the traces or evidences of 
crime. The scene was changed, and she had ample leisure 
to study the details of the rooms, and appreciate the exquis- 
ite beauty of the works of art which surrounded her on every 
side. 

She was in the front room of the suite. It looked out 
upon the avenue. She felt beneath her feet the undulations 
of the softest tapestry carpet she had ever seen. It muffled 
every sound of her feet as she passed over it. Its figures 
were wrought in salmon color and blue, relieved by intervals 
of wliite lifies. Fairy creatures in robes tA blue to 

waits upon a pfiaan of salmon color, and long 


WAMWtCE, 


41 


lilies parted the whirling couples. The walls were 
covered with s.atin paper in broad, alternate bands of salmon 
oolor and white. The heavy curtains which shaded the two 
windows looking upon the avenue were salmon-colored silk, 
elaborately figured, and beneath their parted edges appeared 
the under curtains of white lace, wonderful in fineness of 
texture and grace of pattern. The ceiling of the room was 
frescoed with classical figures. Ceres, in robe of blue, grasped 
her sheaf of golden wheat; Bacchus, crowned with grape- 
leaves, bore aloft his wine-cup and led his merry follow- 
ers ; lo, beloved of Jupiter, but changed into a white heifer, 
was pursued by Juno's tormenting gadfly ; and Psyche, the 
marvel of beauty, was delineated there in the act of waking 
from her supernatural sleep, touched by the arrow of her be- 
loved Cupid. The snow-white marble of the mantel-piece was 
a masterpiece of art and beauty carved in Italy, representing 
in relievo the creation, temptation, sin, and exile of Adam 
and Eve. In the four corners of the room stood on pedestals 
of glistening yellow marble white statues of the four angels 
to whom are assigned the custody of mortals in the several 
periods of infancy, youth, manhood, and old age. One was 
bending as in ecstasy above a cradle ; one was shielding a 
youth with her wings, and smilingly pointing forward ; one 
was standing with folded wings and silently praying, with 
clasped hands, for the strong man, who seemed to walk 
alone, proud in the^ consciousness of will ; and the other was 
calmly, serenely pointing an aged man to heaven. 

Above the mantel-piece was a large painting of Ata- 
lanta, daughter of lasus, contending in the race with the 
suitors who sought her hand, and fatally betrayed by the 
three golden apples. The contest was spirited, and the ele- 
gance of this most swift-footed of mortals portrayed with a 
master’s power in every curve of her fair limbs and the on- 
ward intensity of her expression. Against the walls were 
placed several luxurious divans, covered with blue and salm- 
on-colored silk. Two or three chairs, similarly covered, 
and having in their backs gilt medallions representing scenes 
from the Grecian classics, were scattered about the apart- 
ment. Etageres were on either side of the mantel-piece, 
made of variegated yellow and white marble. They were 
filled with statuettes and miniature bronzes of ancient poets, 
warriors, philosophers, public monuments, temples, vestiU 
virgins of the pagpu epoch, and prophets of the Jewish dia- 


WAMWKX. 


u 

pensation. Each figure was exquisitely carved or wrong&a 
and they all had evidently been the accumulation of many 
travels, and the selection of a refined and classical ta8t«- 
The paintings, large and small, which adorned the walls, had 
been collected, unquestionably, by the same cultivated and 
discriminating hand. There were battle-scenes from the 
Iliad ; and from the same great epic, artists had painted do- 
mestic life and the affections in scenes breathing the greatest 
tenderness and beauty. There were portrayed, also, upon 
the canvas quiet pictures from the Odyssey, with an occa- 
sional effort at the delineation of the grandeur and sublimity 
of its finer passages. There were occasional niches in the 
walls, the receptacles of some exquisite gems of statifary. 
In one of them appeared the forsaken Ariadne wedded to 
Bacchus, who was presenting her with that wedding-crown 
which at her death he transferred to the stars. In another 
niche was Mercury, the youthful god and musician, with his 
tortoise-shell lyre, and Apollo in the act of presenting to him 
his golden staff and the gift of prophecy, in delighted ac- 
knowledgment of his musical talent. Every scene in mar- 
ble or on canvas was chaste, classical, and elegant. There 
were tables inlaid with polished marbles of every hue, and 
on some of them were valuable works from the authors of 
antiquity, bound in vellum and velvet. On one table was a 
writing-desk of ivory, inlaid with silver, lined with purple 
velvet, and partitioned off with solid silver divisions. Upon 
one delicate-looking side-table of yellow marble rested an 
ivory miniature-case tipped with silver. Upon opening it a 
likeness painted on ivory was revealed. May Delano’s gaze 
was riveted to that face instantly. It was a lady in mature 
life, seated between two boys very youthful in appearance, 
and whom Mrs. Secor pronounced immediately to be Mon- 
trose Earle and the disinherited younger brother, Constant. 

“ Why, did you not tell me,” exclaimed the heiress, after 
a brief inspection of the miniature, “ that the baby re- 
sembled the younger brother, instead of Montrose Earle r 
Why 1 see here ; the eyes of the three are very much alike 
to be sure. But look at that mouth of the younger brother 
and the delicate outline of his face- The baby is the per- 
fect picture of him. There is a general family resemblance ; 
but look at that finer, poetical development in the counte- 
nance of the younger boy. The mother and the brother 
loc^ rather like oarioatores of that beautiful yous^ face. 


WAMWWK, 


47 


How loTely he is! How gracefol! Have you ever see® 
him, Mrs. Secor I He must be beautifhl in his manhood as 
Adonis.** 

“ No ; I do not recollect that I ever met the younger 
brother,** was Mrs. Socor’s reply. “It is only the fact of 
Montrose Earle being our landlord that has brought us in 
contact with even him. But really you are right: this 
young Constant Earle is the very image of the baby. How 
strange that I should not have thought of this picture be- 
fore 1 Yes, — you are right ; neither the mother nor Montrose 
have such a mouth or lower face.** 

“And you say, this Constant, this beautiful boy, is a 
man and starving, struggling?** continued the heiress. 

“ Yes, Miss Delano ; that is the current report. Hard 
case, — is it not?** 

“ I should think so,** was the response. “ But where does 
he live ? — in this city ? ** 

“ That is beyond my power to tell you. I think I have 
heard that he lives in some hovel in this city. But I do not 
feel confident about that. But come into this middle room. 
This is to be the library.** 

So speaking, Mrs. Secor pushed aside the broad curtain 
of salmon-colored silk, which, pendant from two white mar- 
ble Corinthian columns, divided the two rooms, and held it 
back for her guest to pass under. 

May reluctantly laid aside the miniature and entered the 
middle room of the suite. She was intensely interested in 
the picture of the boy. Constant Earle. At that early age 
he must have been a marvel of loveliness. He must have 
resembled decidedly the Christ scourged at the pillar. All 
curiosity to look upon the countenance of the elder brother 
had passed away. She only cared to see him now as a mas 
of exquisite taste, who had arranged this sanctum, and who 
presented in his character the strange combination of refine- 
ment and brutality. But to look upon the face of that 
beautiful younger brother, — now moulded and perfected in 
manhood, now bearing in his eyes the gleam of intellectual 
development, — that would indeed be a gratification. Could 
he really be suffering? Could by any possibility his beauti- 
ftil face bear the marks of intense anguish, as did the feat- 
ures of the ideal Christ? Could she help him? Could a 
secret gift from her hand relieve him, encourage him, remove 
the agony of the present cross, and bring to that e3cquiait« 


4 $ 


WAMWKm. 


fkce and those deep bine eyes, hope, peace, a smile? She 
was asking these questions of herself, as she turned away 
from the miniature and followed with her imperial grace and 
gentle footfall the short, nervous, little woman, who was her 
guide. 

The middle apartment was arranged for the reception of 
an extensive library. A large portion of the books had 
abeady been deposited upon the shelves. But many spaces 
in the ebony and silver bookcases were still vacant. One 
side of the room was devoted to the puij)ose3 of a museum. 
Cabinets of ebony and silver, constructed like the bookcases 
in the Egyptian style of architecture, and elaborately carved 
in hieroglyphics, were filled with curiosities and relics from 
every land and age. The museum was particularly rich in 
specimens of weapons of war used by the civilized and bar* 
barous warriors of every nation. Sabres, lances, cimeters, 
war-clubs, pistols, rifles, bows, arrows, and shields, of the 
finest material and most elaborate workmanship, were ar- 
ranged with perfect taste on every side, and many of them 
were elegantly mounted in silver, gold, or precious stones. 
The labels upon some of the more valuable ones indicated 
that they were presents from chiefs and men of eminence in 
their respective lands. The collector of the museum had 
evidently led an adventurous and roving life. 

The library was lighted entirely from above. A large 
skylight flung upon the backs of the volumes, selected with 
a scholar’s discrimination and an antiquary’s love of rare 
tomes, and upon the glistening steel and silver and jewels 
of the weapons, a broad glare of light which could be modi- 
fied in an instant by a cord attached to shifting curtains 
of white, arranged to slide horizontally across the panes of 
glass above. In the centre of the apartment, upon a scarlet 
velvet carpet, stood a table, so elaborately carved from ebony 
and so admirably appointed for the purposes and methodical 
habits of a student, as to merit a minute description. It 
was twelve feet in length, five in width, and two and a half 
feet in height. In the centre of the table was a circular 
aperture for the seat of the student. Upon hinges, near 
the centre of the table, at the sides, parts of the wood opened 
outward, affording the scholar opportunity to seat himself, 
and then return the movable parts to their places, thus en- 
abling him to surround himself entirely with manuscripts 
and q;>en books of reference, which he could consult withool 


wjunncM» 49 

leaTing his seat. The rim of this circolar aperture was a 
sjBries of small drawers for the deposit of papers and sta- 
tionery of every description. The inkstands of glass em 
cased in solid silver were sunk into the table, and just low 
enough below its surface to enable ebony covers to protect 
them when not in use, and thus restore the smooth and 
nniform surface of the table. The entire sides of the table 
were fhll of drawers for the preservation of manuscripts 
and documents, and these drawers were so accurately fitted 
as to be invisible to a stranger at first sight, who would only 
learn of their existence by seeing a carved ebony head of 
some well-known scholar, of ancient or modem times, drawn 
^adually out from the intricate carving of the table, bear- 
ing with it the drawer. Before and behind any student in 
his seat stood two lamps of solid silver, massive, and mov- 
able by concealed rollers. One was the image of Solomon, 
erect in his robes of state, and bearing aloft the lamp whose 
ground-glass shade bore the inscription “Ancient Wisdom.” 
The other was the heroic figure of a Christian martyr, 
bound to the stake and holding the lamp which presented 
this motto: “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of 
wisdom.” 

The tops of the bookcases and cabinets were ornamented 
by the marble, busts of scholars and poets, and above them 
all against the walls, which were hung with scarlet velvet, ap- 
peared the choicest paintings of the modern Italian, Spanish, 
and German schools. But above the triumphal arch of 
black marble and silver carvings, which was supported upon 
glistening black marble columns, in the Eygptian style, and 
which sustained the scarlet velvet curtains, opening into 
the third apartment of the suite, appeared a portrait so ex- 
quisitely beautiful that May Delano exclaimed with delight, 
and Mrs. Secor with amazement, at the apparition. Neither 
could question the fact that here, prominent in the sanc- 
tum of the elder brother, was the likeness of that beautiful 
being. Constant Earle, of the miniature, portrayed in all the 
loveliness, the fire, and the poet^ of young manhood. It 
must have been taken just as this young prince of beauty 
stood upon the line which divides a score and four from a 
quarter of a century. The rich, glorious, celestial blue of 
^e eye seemed to move and dilate upon them as they gazed. 
The small mouth was half curved in a smile, and the fresh, 
earnest, eager flush of enjoyment and hope was upon the 


do 


WAEWXaX* 


eheek. Fftitb in Rnd wcmnan, in truth and poriij and 
Grod, had not yet gone down before the charge of the infer- 
nal legions, aUied with the world. The upper lip ww 
slightly hidden by a light-brown mustache, whose long, 
slim ends curled upward. The flush of the cheek was in 
striking contrast with the marble whiteness of the broad, 
poetic, perfect forehead, from which was carelessly pressed 
back the curly, misty brown hair. The eyes were eloquent 
in the clearness of intensity and honesty. Intellect, love, 
gentleness, sympathy, were unmistakably in them. About 
the delicate lips lingered the tenderness, the refinement, and 
the purity of a woman. The portrait was taken to the waist, 
and the coat was of a dark-brown hue, carelessly buttoned 
so as to reveal on the breast a large part of the ruffled 
sliirt-bosom. The shirt-coUar was broad and rolling, and 
encircled by a black silk cravat, with flowing ends. It was 
the face, the figure, and the ideal of a poet, whose erratic 
life some proud mother’s prayers might have entwined, 
or some girl’s fond, appreciative heart have worshipped. 
There had been no serious csires as yet to contract those 
matchless eyes or trace the early wrinkles upon the noble 
forehead. Success, wealth, friends, had ever attended him. 
Hunger, the wolf of poverty’s winter, had never visited his 
door. He was coiurted, beloved, flattered, by the world, and 
in its heaven there had been no cloud for him. Where was 
he now? Alas! the lion-hearted, the proud, the beautiful, 
the gentle, was starving, clutching for bread in his fierce 
grapple with poverty. Hunger, weariness, anxiety, despair, 
were trampling out the ideal life within him. He was mak- 
ing terrible atonement for the past luxury of his career. 
W'as there no hope for him yet? Must that lovely face for- 
ever follow the doom of the destitute and the low? Such 
were the mental interrogatories the heiress put to herself, as 
she dropped into a chair and studied the portrait, while Mrs. 
Secor indulged, in repeated exclamations of amazement at 
the fact that a portrait had escaped her d^y observations ; 
that a gem of art had found its way into this library, of 
which she alone held the keys, and yet she had known noth- 
ing of it. Every workman, every upholsterer, every artist, 
who had entereid these rooms for purposes of decoration, 
had passed under her immediate eye. She held the keySf 
and all were admitted to the rooms by her band. Even 
Montrose Earle, in xns occasional visits to superfittct&d €h« 


WJUKWifar, 


eanyliig oat of his orders, used no keys except those in hei 
possession. How had the portrait found its way into her 
house ? How had it entered the library, and found a resting- 
pl^e above the arch? Three days ago it was not there. 
Within those three days no one had entered this suite of 
rooms, except the party who entered them hurriedly and in 
alarm on the night of the mysterious murder-cry. Here was 
an event in the house-keeping experience of this little woman 
which set at defiance all her sense of propriety, of privacj% 
of sanctity in the conduct of afiairs beneath her roof. Mon- 
trose Earle had not visited her for many days, and no agent 
of his had solicited admittance to the library within he past 
three days. She had herself recently visited tlie rooms, and 
no portrait of Constant Earle was there, for she had exam- 
ined the empty space above the arch, and wondered for what 
purpose it was being reserved. Who had secretly invaded 
her home? How could the feat have been accomplished? 
The more she speculated upon the affair, the more mysteri- 
ous did the apparition of the portrait appear. She detailed 
to Miss Delano all the facts connected with her recent visits 
to the rooms ; she expressed her wonder, her terror, at this 
second mystery, following so closely upon the cry of mur- 
der, the finding of the revolver, and the abandonment of the 
infant by the stranger who had been secretly admitted at her 
front door. Under the stimulus of her amazement, she ex- 
cited the heiress to a search with her for any unknown or se- 
cret entrance to this suite of rooms. They pried into every 
nook and comer and case and cabinet for secret doors 
and secret springs. Their search was unavailing. Every- 
thing was in perfect order. Elegance and propriety reigned 
in tSie two rooms. There was nothing to indicate hidden 
ways, nothing to evoke suspicion that Montrose Earle was 
anything but the elegant, retiring respectable gentleman 
that he seemed. Then the two pursued their search in the 
third room of the suite. 


WAMfnm, 


H 


Cfisirtet: 1711^ 

To iiete th® ohajnber:— I will write all dowBi 
6noh, and Buch, piotnrea; there the window: smIi 
T h^ adornment of her bed; the arras, figures, 

Why, such, and snoh. 

> OruBBEan. 

Mbs. Secob drew aside the scarlet velvet curtain beueatk 
the portrait of Constant Earle, and then pushed back th# 
white velvet curtain which hung just beyond it. May Del- 
ano followed her, and immediately found herself in a bed- 
chamber of white and silver. The walls were hung with 
folds of white silk ; the carpet was a fabric she had never seen, 
and appeared to be a ground of some material resembling 
white velvet having poppies worked in it with silver thread. 
The window-curtains were of white velvet with a slender vine 
and leaves worked in silver thread along their edges. They 
were drawn back revealing lace under-curtains. Their cor- 
nices were broad bands of silver elaborately carved in relievo, 
as was also the cornice of the grand curtain which partitioned 
the bedchamber from the library. The furniture of the apart- 
ment was of white marble, delicately carved in fruits and 
flowers ; the bureau drawers having silver lilies for handles, 
and the chairs silver bands around the white velvet seats. 
The mantel-piece was an elaborate work of art. Two white 
marble angels held a screen of marble behind a grate which 
was encased in a perfect globe of silver when not in actual 
use, the detached half of the ball or cover fitting to the back 
accurately, and kept always polished to dazzling bright- 
ness. 

The bedstead was a broad couch of white marble, having 
upon the short posts fhll-length statues of Somnus, the youth- 
ful god of sleep, holding an inverted torch, Nox, the goddess 
of night, winged and covered with a star-spangled robe, her 
daughter Nemesis (the emblem of conscience, standing as a 
■virgin in a thoughtful mood, and holding in her left hand a 
branch of the ash-tree, and in her right a wheel and sword), 
and a statue rc^presestiog her other child. Dreams. From a 
hand of each of these fbor statues rose to a nilver ring in the 


WJLMWWK. 


53 


eeiling a misty bed canopy of white silk with edgings of lace. 
It was a luxurious couch, the fine pillow-cases trimmed with 
lace, and the coverlet of soft white silk embroidered heavily 
in silver leaves and flowers. Several paintings framed in 
silver adorned the walls, but every scene was a gentle moon* 
light view, or a glimpse of winter scenery, or some represen- 
tation recalling to mind, and harmonizing with, the prevailing 
colors of the apartment, silver and white. The effect of aU 
the appointments of the room was a suggestion of peace and 
purity. The vases upon the mantle, the silver toilet bottles 
and boxes upon the bureau, ’the silver brushes and combs, 
the statuettes, the jewel-cases of ivory, and the weblike delicacy 
of the silver chandelier, all quietly" fulfilled their mission of 
serving the reign and wearing the livery of the presiding 
genii of the place, silver and white. 

IJpon the bureau were two statuettes, of alabaster, miniature 
copies of Michael Angelo’s exquisite statues, Day and Night. 
Upon the mantel-piece were alabaster copies of his more per- 
fect and ideal creations. Evening and Morning. To the 
latter figure, “ L’ Aurora di Mich^ Angelo,” the appreciative 
eye of Miss Delano was instantly attracted. It was a female 
outstretched upon a sarcophagus, and devoid of drapery, save 
only a veil drawn over her hair. The face was full of spiritual 
beauty, and her attitude that of one preparing to rise. One 
arm was raised, with the elbow sharply bent, as the hand 
grasped the folds of the veil to draw it over her eyes against 
the intensity of the rising sun. The heiress lingered long in 
study of this exquisite beauty, deemed the finest of Michael 
Angelo’s efforts as a sculptor. She was called away from 
the contemplation of it by Mrs. Secor’s repeated exclamations 
of admiration and delight at the perfection and elegance of 
the closets designed for wardrobes, and at the purity and 
richness of the white marble bathing-tub, with its silver swan 
ttpholding in its bill the reservoir for the shower, and at the 
silver faucets fashioned in the form of dolphins. Every article 
in the apartment indicated solidity and richness, secured a t 
the most lavish expenditure and by the most careful and 
fkfftidious search. 

“ It is a suitable bridal chamber for a prince instead of the 
selfish resting-place of a bachelor,” exclaimed Miss Delano; 
“ and to think that all this taste and luxury have fallen to the 
lot of a cold-hearted elder brother, when that proud, beaulifm 
Constant chafes away his life and loveliness in some garret. 


54 


WAMWiCE* 


The ways of Heaven are indeed Inscrutable, Ml’s. Secor; but 
f wonder if this younger brother has talent, is worthy of 
sympathy, is an upright, earnest man. I find that many 
in this city , who are born under the auspices of wealth and 
station, prove themselves to be ingrates to Providence, and 
fritter away their advantages and talents in the, worst dis* 
sipations. But I would like to know about this unfortunate 
»ntleman. You need never mention this matter, but I think, 
Mrs. Secor, that God ^ei^ands of us greater charity and in- 
terference when he has given us lai’ge means. I have a large 
property, — very large, — and I know of no better way of dis- 
posing of a part of my income than encouraging the struggling 
in every condition of life. If you happen to learn from Mon- 
trose Earle, or from any one else, the whereabouts of this 
younger brother, do not fail to inform me. I have to move 
silently and secretly in these matters, where one has to con- 
tend with pride of birth and individuality. K this young man 
is really suflering I will assist him, and he shall never know 
from what hand the assistance comes. — But look at this lace 
on the pillow-cases and the curtains ; why, the man must be a 
perfect Wallenstein in wealth and luxurious taste. And so he 
is coming here to live entirely alone by himself ! What a 
strange nature to isolate himself even from his own flesh and 
blood 1 Is he agreeable, Mrs. Secor, in his address ? ” 

“ Indeed he is, Miss Delano ; he is a perfect gentleman. 
He is a little reserved at times ; particularly when any one 
refers to his family. He seems to consider that matter an 
impertinence. I never tried it but once, and then he shut me 
ap very decidedly. ‘ I don’t care to discuss my relatives,’ he 
said, and then turned away from me. I never tried him on that 
matter again. With that exception he has generally seemed 
cheerful. But you are very kind about offering assistance to 
the brother. If I find out anything about him I will surely 
let you know. But this portrait — this portrait — how in the 
name of goodness did it get in here without my knowing it? 
I would have seen it come in. There is not the slig&est 
doubt about that.” 

“ The cry of murder is still more mysterious to me. Mrs. 
Secor, I heard it distinctly. It sounded as if it came from 
that front room, — the salmon and blue room. I was wide 
awake and on the alert for the sound of my uncle’s step. 
There is something here which we have not fathomed yet | 


wjutmcx. 


5S 


there is some secret way of escape. Coaid not the murderer 
nave escaped from one of these back windows ? ** 

“Mercy, nol Miss Delano,” replied the little woman! 
“ It is too high ; come here.” 

She moved quickly to one of the windows, pushed aside 
the curtains, and pointed downward to the yard of the house. 
It would have required hardihood indeed to leap from that 
window on to the bricks below, a distance of two stories, by 
including the height of the basement wall. No ankles would 
be apt to come off triumphant from that feat. And even could 
that leap be counted among the list of possibilities in specu- 
lating upon the murderer’s escape, who had given him access 
to the second story, and what had he done with his victim? 
Who was the murderer, the man who abandoned the child 
and entered the house, or the individual who met him in the 
second story? 

These questions were repeated and speculated upon by the 
two females, as they stood by the window in that luxurious 
bedchamber. They had searched in every corner and every 
closet of that suite of rooms for the secret avenue of escape 
of that mysterious felon. Everything was as calm, as peace- 
ful, as serene, as a dream. The sunlight flooded the apart- 
ment, dancing upon the rich figures of the curtains, flashing 
from the silver articles of the toilet and the silver patterns 
on the hangings, and wandering in avenues of light among 
the limbs and wings of the angels. It seemed impossible to 
associate deeds of violence and death with the serene, unruf- 
fled elegance of the place. Nevertheless, as the two stood 
silently, at length, in the white chamber, gazing into each 
other’s eyes, a vague sense of terror stole over them ; a con- 
sciousness came to them that a fearful crime had been suc- 
cessfully concealed, and that where their footsteps had been 
so innocently falling upon the carpets, the tread of the 
avenger had passed, and left no trace. Had it been a deed 
of just retribution, or had it been a bold defiance of the im- 
mutable law of God and man? Would it belong to that 
class of mysteries whose unravelling the Eternal reserves for 
that awful day when the dead are summoned to the last 
ludgment, or had the guilty being left one of those slender 
finks behind him which, in the providence of God, couple to- 

§ :ether in time the broken chains of evidence, and bind the 
ying wretch to the terrors of the outraged human law? 
Seating themselves, after a time, in the white ehamber^ 


WAMmOK. 


5i 

they discussed the mysterious event in low tones, as If th^ 
feared at any moment the approach of the hidden murderer, 
whose place of concealment they apprehended might open 
from the very walls of the house itself. Mrs. Secor commu- 
nicated in that interview every fact and every rumor that had 
come tc her regarding the Earle family. She detailed every- 
thing connected with the singular will which her acquaint- 
ances had heard, for she was herself only acquainted with 
Montrose Earle. The disinherison of the children by a 
wealthy father becomes, even in the crowded and busy me- 
tropolis, the subject of popular comment. It is so mani- 
festly unnatural for a parent to cast his own flesh and blood 
beggars upon the world, that the good sense of society is 
shocked. No matter how erring, how depraved, how diso- 
bedient, the offsp;ring may be, the dictates of the human 
heart and the dictates of religion point to gentleness, to for- 
bearance, to kindness in the treatment of the children whom 
God has given to a father in goodness and mercy. For a 
child there should be no day at which reverence and respect 
may cease ; and for a parent the obligation of protection and 
love is equally durable and binding ; and the good sense of 
every Christian community revolts at the violation of duty 
by either. When, therefore, the head of the Earle family 
laid himself down to die, and in the death-struggle persisted 
in ignoring his younger children ; when he looked in the 
face of the death-angel, who had summoned him to the bar 
of a just but merciful God, and sternly refused to remember 
the delicately nurtured offspring whom he had brought into 
a hard, selfish, struggling world, whose successful career of 
self-reliance and labor he had rendered almost impracticable 
by educating and habituating them to luxury, — a thrill 
of horror ran through every gentle and true heart, and men 
could not reconcile themselves to the belief that such dere- 
liction of mercy could be rewarded with divine mercy in the 
world to come. Hence the rumor of this strange obduracy 
travelled wide ; and when investigation and inquiry con- 
firmed the fact that Constant Earle and his sister had in- 
dulged in extravagance and dissipation to no greater extent 
than the majority of young ladies and young gentlemen in 
their own position in society in the metropolis, a vague feel- 
ing of wonder and of horror became prevalent at the cruelty 
and neglect of the deceased Earle. But when the succeeding 
mystery was reported to the world, that the fortunate elder 


WJMWKX. 


a? 


brother had boimd himself up in an impenetrable armor of 
reserve, and had refused to share one dollar with his destitute 
relatives, society was annoyed and scandalized. It was ru- 
mored that he must have obtained the entire wealth of hij 
father by undue influence, or by forgery. Neither of these 
charges could be sustained upon legal investigation ; and it 
appeared, moreover, to be a very hard case if a man’s ante- 
c^ents could not be cited in his favor. Montrose Earle had 
not been a hard, stern, bad man in the memory of his cotem- 
poraries. He was known to have been a traveller of wide 
and varied experiences. Rumor named him a scholar and an 
art critic. He had ever manifested the tastes, instincts, and 
proprieties of the gentleman. He had many friends in soch 
ety, and the number of those who respected him simply was 
by no means small. These favorable considerations in his 
behalf rendered the singularity of his present conduct the 
more mysterious and unaccountable. Society fancied Con- 
stant Earle and his si Bter ; why should not their own brother 
fancy them too ? Wi y not, at least, put bread into theii 
mouths, and clothing upon their backs, and kind words into 
their ears ? This outlay could not perceptibly deplete his 
vast resources, and it would most assuredly be a sop thrown 
to decency. 

When May Delano had become possessed of all the gossip 
relating to the Earle family which it was in the power of the 
grocer’s wife to communicate, she arose to take her depart- 
ure. At that instant she happened to glance into a long 
mirror, framed in silver, which reached nearly to the carpet. 
She saw the reflection in the glass, of the white carpet, and a 
part also of the marble couch. Near the side of the latter, 
and partly uhder it, she discovered a tiny white-looking 
object lying upon the floor. She turned away from the 
mirror, and found that it had reflected correctly what 
appeared to be a note or fragment of paper. She called 
Mrs. Secor’s attention to it as she passed across the room to 
pick it up. It proved to be a small note, open and crumpled 
up, as if it had been crushed in a hand and thrown carelessly 
upon the floor. As she raised it from the carpet, she uttered 
an exclamation of surprise. It was signed J, H, N, It was 
Impossible to avoid seeing this signature, as the bottom of 
the note was turned up so as to meet the eye of any one 
who might raise it fix>m the floor. It was not within tlw 
power of human nature to resist the impulse to smooth 


86 


tiiat note and learn its contents. The inviolability of a 
vate letter was forgotten. She, who under ordinary circum* 
stances would have shrunk with horror from the bare inti* 
mation that she was capable of reading another’s private 
missive, was so intensely absorbed in the mystery of the 
murder, and the infant, that she hurriedly spread out the 
note, and made herself acquainted with its contents. Mrs. 
Secor, standing on tiptoe behind her, read with her, as fol- 
lows : — 7 

“ Dear Montrose : — Your note has just been handed to 
me. I will endeavor to meet you at the hour you mention. 
It strikes me that your business must be very urgent indeed 
to take you from the city at such a strange time. Neverthe- 
less, friendship such as ours has been demands sacrifices ; 
consequently I will come at midnight, although I have a very 
pressing matter to attend to, which I shall have to expedite 
in order to meet you. If I am a few moments behind time, 
do not be impatient, for I will certainly be there. I will 
accept your offer of a bed for the night, as I do not care to 
return home at that late hour, particularly if such frightful 
weather as this continues. My dear fellow, I am straining a 
point to oblige you, all of which please note, and credit it to 
the desire of gratifying you, which ever pervades the heart 
of your friend J. H. N.” 

May Delano turned with a bewildered look to the little 
woman at her shoulder. Her companion, pale with terror, 
exclaimed: — 

“ Our worst suspicions are confirmed, and to think how 
cool a deed it was too : to inveigle his own friend here at 
midnight, and then murder him in cold blood. What shall 
we do I — what shall we do ! ” 

“ Nonsense I ” was the unruffled response. “ Mrs. Secoi 
it is not customary for people to murder their friends. But 
who among Mr. Earle’s acquaintances answers to those 
initials, J. H. N. ? 

“ I am sure I cannot tell you. Miss Delano. But there 
can be no difficulty about that. Any of his intimate 
acquaintances will know who «/. H, N. is. But oh I how 
dreadfiil that such a thing could happen under my roof; and 
It will bric^ u# all into such dre^ul notoriety wo. 0 
let m got out ef these rooms as fulc^ as we ean ] ** 


WAswrtm. 


59 


^ Wait/' was the firm response, which, coming from one 
of her character and presence, conveyed a command. She 
laid her gloved hand upon the arm of the frightened woman 
to detain her. Mrs. Secor glanced up at those clear, proud, 
imperial eyes. Her agitation was sufficiently quelled by 
that dictatorial monosyllable to enable her to see that the 
heiress was not accustomed to have her demands disputed. 
The voice was wonderfully calm as it continued i — 

“ Neither you nor I must leave these rooms till we have 
arranged a programme for the future. Notoriety is not an 
honor that I covet, and it can scarcely benefit you either, 
Birs. Secor. We will not conceal crime, I am sure. Nei- 
ther will we raise a hue-and-cry about trifles. Tnis note has 
really cleared up nothing. It has no date, and it is uncer- 
tain by whom it was written. At the best it is a friend's 
letter, and men are not apt to make way with their friends 
clandestinely. Permit me to suggest to you, that any noise 
raised about this matter yet may defeat the ends of jus- 
tice." 

“But,” exclaimed the nervous little woman, “I can't 
keep still ; 1 should burst, I know I should. 1 must tell Mr. 
Secor ; I never keep anything from him.” 

“ Unquestionably you should,” was the reply. “ But 
listen to me ; that is exactly what I was about to suggest. 
Let us confide this matter for the present to two only. You 
tell your husband and I will inform my uncle. You will see 
that they will both sustain me in my position, that this mat- 
ter will be best ferreted out by employing caution and time. 
Let us wait and watch. I have no question that a crime has 
been committed. I must believe my own ears to a certain 
extent. Now listen to me. K Mr. Earle has been the 
guilty party, he should not be allowed to escape through our 
foolishness. Jf he is guilty and is punished, that poor 
brother and sister may obtain his property, for he is a bach- 
elor.” 

“ Not if he has made a will. Miss Delano,” replied the 
little woman, her practical turn of mind being recalled to her 
by the coolness of the girl before her. She was amazed at 
the sense displayed by one so much her junior in years. 

“ He has made no will, Mrs. Secor ; that is to say, I do 
not believe he has. I have not enjoyed a wonderfully long 
experience of men, but let me tell you that men who inherit 
large fortunes in early life, and a few mcmtha after tbeif 


60 


WARWKX. 


property comes to them commence each a career of wt 
taravagance as yon see around you in these rooms, are the 
last men generally to think of doing so wise and provident 
an act as drawing up a will immediately. There comes a 
large Jiole in the estate before they commence providing for 
posterity. This is the general rule. But never mind all 
this. I do not know the law, but it occurred to me that this 
poor brother and sister might possibly be benefited. Now, 
if this man proves to be innocent, how absurd we should all 
make ourselves by raising an unnecessary storm against him I 
Do you not think so ? ” 

“ Why, certainly. Miss Delano. But how on earth arc 
such things to be found out unless people do raise a storm 
about it?’’ 

“ By submitting the facts to wiser and more experienced 
heads than our own,” replied the same calm, imperturbable 
voice. 

“You mean the authorities, I suppose. Miss Delano?” 

“Not necessarily, Mrs. Secor. The authorities of this 
city are not always wiser and more profound heads than oui 
own. At least I have heard so. But this is what I mean. 
For instance, my uncle has been tlioroughly educated in the 
law. I have heard leading men of the courts remark that his 
legal judgment was excellent. Let us ask him what is best 
to be done with this note. Call in your husband to the con- 
sultation. His house is involved in this matter. Talk to no 
one until you learn his opinion. Prudence can harm no one ; 
it may subserve the cause of right. Be guided, I pray you, 
by my advice in this instance. Don’t talk about this note 
generally to people.” 

“ I think you are right, Miss Delano ; but I shall watch 
closely this man’s movements. He must have some means 
of entering these rooms which I am ignorant of. How came 
the portrait here? Just to think of it. Such a kind, elegant 
gentleman too. He has charmed my husband and myself by 
his generosity and accommodating disposition. We never 
asked him to make repairs, or make any improvements in 
this house, but he listened pleasantly to us, and has spent a 

f ood deal of money on the place, just to accommodate us. 

’hat is the reason we gave up this part of the house to him. 
He acts queerly about his brother and sistei-, to be sure ; 1 
hope he hasn’t done anything wrong here. I will watch blxa 
olooely though, — shall I not ? ” 


WAMWIOX, 


“Unquestionably,” was the response. “But nerer toft 
we instant allow him to know that you suspect him. When 
is he coming to occupy these rooms? ” 

“ About the first week in May, I believe ; at least the up* 
holsterer told me so. He was coming earlier, I understood 
him, but the upholsterer says he was instructed not to leave 
anything undone after the first of May. I would like to 
know what your uncle says about the note. Will you let me 
know- soon?” 

“Yes. You bring your husband over to uncle's house to- 
night, and we will talk it all over. But, for Heaven's sake, 
be careful and not talk to any one else. If this man is guilty 
it may put him on his guard. But, really, I do not see any- 
thing yet to fasten a crime upon Mr. Earle. Shall I keep 
this paper?” 

“ Certainly, Miss Delano, if you like. We will have it 
read aloud to the gentlemen to-night.” 

“ Very well, I ^1 bid you good-morning, and allow me to 
express my gratitude to you for your kind gratification of 
my curiosity. These rooms are truly regal.” 

The two passed under the white velvet curtain, and made 
their way out to the hall as they had come. May Delano ex- 
amining minutely again the rare elegancies of the suite as 
they passed. 


Ciraptet FiSi. 

Amjed— ft half-ftngelio ilghk-^ 

In reetf of pare baptiamal white, 

The mother to the font doth bria^ 

The little helpless, nameless thing. 

CXABXM LAJO. 

Tmt midday sun flooded the grand avenue of the metrop<^ 
iis. The rays flashed from -the wheels of the elegant equi- 
pages, and glistened on the smooth backs of the hurrying 
steeds, as they sped away on their missions of business or 
pleasure. Everybody was out enjoying or taking advan- 
tage of the genial sunshine, that had come so suddenly to 
relieve the tedium of the stormy winter days which so long 


had detained the gentle and the delicate within doors. 
snow and the sleet and the rain had passed away, leaving 
no trace upon the splendid avenue, save here and there in 
the gutters occasional miniature ice-pools, hardened by the 
frost of the past night. A clear, cold atmosphere held 
sway, as was manifested by the puffs of frozen breath which 
issued from the nostrils of the horses as they moved along. 
Nevertheless it was a stimulating, bracing air for ordinary 
lungs ; and all seemed to enjoy its health-giving and cheek- 
brightening influence.^ The stern aristocrat leaned comfort- 
ably back in his carriage, and looked calmly, and with 
becoming assumption of indifference, directly ahead. The 
equally happy and opulent parvenu rested against the padded 
back of his vehicle, and, while enjoying his drive, ventured 
an occasional glimpse at the humanity on the sidewalks. 
Pedestrians were moving along thepave with the true American 
rapidity of gait, and many of them utterly oblivious of the fact 
that there was no special necessity for their hurry, as they 
were out for pleasure and not business. But the national 
nervousness and energy were upon them all, and away they 
sped, the adult and the youth, the matron and the maid, 
rushing, trotting, striding along in the full glare of the 
genial sun. The male portion of the population, who wore 
ttie livery of the great American autocrat, “ business^** had 
long since disappeared in that Babel of the metropolis, 
familiarly known as “down-town;” but there was a sufiS- 
cient representation of the lords of creation on “ the 
avenue ” to render it by no means a female monopoly ; and 
the scene was truly animated, diversified, and brilliant. 

As the pedestrians moved along, beggar children of both 
sexes intercepted them at the crossings, and with the custom- 
ary piteous and whining tone solicited alms. Few appeared 
to respond to these familiar supplications, and the little 
beggars, after a few rebuffs, would seat themselves upon the 
door-steps of some palatial residence^ and eye curiously the 
new-comers approaching in the distance, as if they would 
recognize by the gait and dress those who had heretofore 
aided them, or would discover in the physiognomy rf stran- 
gers indications of a charitable disposition. One little 
ragged urchin, who might have seen ten summers, was par- 
ticularly worthy of notice, by any passier-by who might 
have leisure or curiosity to observe the ways and features 
of these little outcasts. He was emaciated, and a cripple , 


WdMWTOr. 


ii 

kmt he managed to hobble around with wonderfhl speed anJ 
dfcj±^ri*y, whenever he deemed it wise to leave his resting* 
place, a lamp-post, and enter the arena of solicitation. He 
appeared to act from some inherent or acquired knowledge of 
physiognomy ; for he carefully scrutinized the countenances 
of the new-comers before they had reached his resting-place^ 
and, in fact, eyed them from head to foot, noting every 
peculiarity of their dress and gait. He disdained to follow 
the example of the other children, who hung around his 
favorite corner and importuned every passer-by, but reserved 
himself for a few decided and adroit efforts in the line of his 
calling. He made some failures, but was rewarded by many 
successes. He knew the exact instant when he must start 
away from the support of the lamp-post, to present himself 
before the pedestrians ; and he knew, too, the exact poise to 
give the amputated leg to swing it under their observation 
at the moment of solicitation. . He had discarded the fash- 
ionable whine of his class, “ Please, sir, give me a penny,” 
and substituted therefor the calm exclamation, “ Alas, sir, 
Pve lost my leg I ” The novelty of his chosen cjiallenge 
attracted the attention of many ; but more were caught by 
the bright, upward glance of his brilliant black eye, which 
glistened with intelligence and spirit. The little fellow was 
pale, despite the dirt-stains which seemed to have found a 
welcome home upon his face ; and his long, unkemmed hair, 
of a dingy black hue, was ludicrously surmounted by an 
adult’s beaver hat, which he was obliged to push back every 
instant, to keep it from covering his eyes. Although ema- 
ciated by sickness, or by the rigid diet which poverty had 
forced upon him, he was a cheerful ragamuffin ; and, when 
not engrossed in the immediate inspection or pursuit of his 
quarry, the generous public, he indulged in slang remarks 
upon the pedestrians, or crude witticisms upon their pecu- 
liarities, which seemed to entertain highly the little circle of 
beggars, who occasionally clustered around him to exhibit 
their trophies or recount their failures in the alms-seeking 
line. He was evidently a species of oracle for the juvenile 
beggar fraternity, and invariably the youngsters turned to 
him with a leer or a shrug of the shoulder, when a pedes- 
trian gave them no encouragement, or saluted him with a 
grin when the unexpected pennies fell into their outstretched 
palms. His keen eyes were ever roving along the avenue, 
and nothing seemed to escape his notice. He even scanned 


64 


WdMwicr. 


with anxious eye tnat forlorn hope, the carriages, as the^ 
rolled along ; and, when a familiar face looked out of the 
window, he would fly to the middle of the street, and hobble 
alongside the vehicle for a moment, holding out his enor- 
mous hat, which not unfrequently received a penny plump In 
the crown. Sometimes a crumpled fragment of paper flut- 
tered out of the carriage window in the direction of his 
beaver, bearing the stamp, “ United States Fractional Cur- 
rency.” His success was marvellous to his companions, who 
were not sufficiently attentive to the fact that he was never 
off his guard, and always laid aside pleasure, or withheld 
his jest or his sarcasm, just at the instant a promising pedes- 
trian came within range. His fellow-urchins fancied it was 
genius that brought him luck, when it was only talent on the 
alert. Grown-up competitors in the game of life frequently 
indulge in the same ny«conception regarding their successful 
fellows. 

He was leaning ^^ietly against his usual support, and 
sunning himself, but with his eyes roving up and down the 
avenue, when a little beggar-girl left the side of a young 
gentleman whomvshe had been “running down,” and, with a 
disappointed look, approached him, saying, “ Not a dumcd 
ting.” 

“ I told ye,” was the contemptuous response, “ never to 
run wid yaller kids and sich legs. Sich legs don’t pay. Men 
with legs as shambles, and pants as squeezes, won’t give ye 
nothin’ ; and when the yaller kids is on too ye might know 
it’s no use. ’TUint in ’em. Them as is tight in the legs is 
tight in the pocket.” 

With this sententious opinion, for her special benefit and 
future guidance, he dismissed the wretched little creature to 
her duties on the pav6. In another instant the cripple 
darted after her, and, as he hobbled past her, said : — 

“ Drab kids is allers genteel and sound ; and when the 
pants is loose, and they aintiranyin’ nor anxious-lookin’, 
there’s some chance.” 

In another moment he had intercepted a young gentleman, 
dressed neatly, but not in the extreme of the fashion, who 
rejoiced in the possession of the drab gloves. The stranger 
had a bright, generous face, and was walking apparently at 
case with himself and all the world. He paused for an in- 
jBtant, glanced sadly at the amputated limb, and, slipping 
his fingers in his vest-pocket, ^ew out a roll of ftactiomi) 


fTASWrOE. 


6S 

tnrreiK^, and handed the cripple one small piece of the 
representative money. Then he resumed his easy pace, 
quiet, dignified, cheerful, unconscious, perhaps, that the 
denomination of the currency was registered high over his 
head beyond the blue vault. Men who carry small change 
for beggars sometimes forget the entry on the great book 
of life. They may act from a long-established principle of 
charity, and the individual act makes no apparent impres- 
sion on their minds. It is of too frequent occurrence to be 
remembered by them ; but the All-searching God does not 
cease to remember. 

The little cripple removed his enormous hat, and thanked 
the stranger, who did not appear to hear him. He had 
passed on, dreaming, dreaming. Then the urchin hobbled 
back with a complacent grin to his lamp-post. A little rag- 
amuffin shouted after him : — 

“How much. Shorty?’^ 

The culy response he received was ten fingers held aloft, 
as the cripple balanced himself on his crutch. There was a 
chuckle on the pallid face as he leaned against the lamp-post, 
and he said to himself, “ Drabs is sound.” After a brief 
mental review of the past he added, “ in general, and when 
they’s walkin' slow.” 

At this instant the cripple espied an elderly lady coming 
down the walk, whom he recognized as a familiar distributor 
of small alms, and he prepared to hobble in front of her, cer- 
tain, at least, of a kind word, if her pennies were already 
exhausted. But several of the beggar fraternity in his neigh- 
borhood recognized her also, and prepared to anticipate his. 
movements as well as each other's. There was likely to be 
an animated competition for her favor, and a juvenile race 
towards her when the immediate calls upon their attention 
in the persons of nearer pedestrians had been looked after. 
All felt confident, at least, that the little cripple would be 
distanced in the race. With the quick glance of a military 
commander he* took in the whole field, and detected at once 
his inability to reach the coveted position in advance of his 
rivals. But his eyes never ceased their roving glance along 
the avenue, and when his competitors darted ahead of him 
towards the benevolent lady he executed a rapid flank move 
ment which took them all by surprise. With wonderful rapid- 
ity he hobbled across the street to the opposite pavement and 
thumped rapidly along the flags. By the time the little beg 


WAMWKm* 


gars had reached the lady and learned to their mortification 
&at she was out of pennies, “ Shorty" had attained a stand 
directly in front of the steps of a fine brown-stone mansion 
on the opposite side of the avenue. As he paused before the 
entrance of the dwelling and leaned heavily upon his crutch, 
a coup6 drawn by two magnificent black steeds whirled up 
to the pavement directly beside him. The horses were per- 
fectly matched, and in the forehead of each glistened a small 
white spot resembling a star. Save that solitary frontal 
mark they were dark as the raven’s wing. They were wild 
with excitement at their release from the stable, and, after a 
brief display of their curveting qualities, they were reduced 
to quiet, and stood with proudly arching necks and droop- 
ing tails awaiting their burden. Their harness was orna- 
mented with silver, glistening in the sun, and the blinds over 
their eyes bore the silver letter D. On the panel of the car- 
riage-door was a small turreted castle of solid silver, holding 
three archera with bent bows. The coachman wore a livery 
of light gray with silver buttons, and his black hat was 
circled by a band of silver braid. 

The cripple had abandoned a possibility for a high proba- 
bility. He had seen the dancing black steeds and surmised 
their destination. Their glistening coats were as familiar to 
him as the image of his favorite lamp-post. As he stood 
expectant before the mansion the front door opened and 
gave egress to a young lady in black, with a velvet cloak and 
bonnet, who descended the stone steps with imperial grace 
and moved slowly towards the coupe. She was followed by 
a tall, elderly gentleman in black, who, after giving directions 
to the driver, entered the vehicle after her. The cripple had 
made no effort to detain her, but simply stood where she 
would be certain to see him before she entered the carriage. 
Just as the coachman had gathered up his reins for a start, 
the young lady had selected a piece of money from her purse, 
and, leaning from the window, she said, “ Here, Shorty I " 
and flung it towards the cripple. It fell on the flag-stones 
before him; and, hastily raising it from the pavement, 
he called after the receding carriage, “Thank you, prin- 
cess I " 

It was a larger douceur than she was in the habit of glv* 
ing him, and his black eyes glistened with delight. He 
hobbled back to his companions, and in response to their 
inquiries sullenly muttered, “ Only a penny," He was too 


WAMmm. 


WWe to post them on the yalue of his familiar Mend, “ the 
princess.” He was a stem advocate of monopolies. 

As the coiip6 rolled along the avenue, the gentleman said 
to his companion : — 

“ Do you know anything about that boy, May? He seem* 
always to hover about your carriage.” 

“ Yes, uncle,” was her reply. “ I have talked to him sev- 
eral times, and promised to visit bis home when I can find 
time. He has a sister older than himself, who earns a scanty 
support by doing sewing for a cheap tailoring establishment. 
He is a bright little fellow, and I intend to persuade him 
to attend my Sunday-school class. But I have been so hur- 
ried with the affairs of the charity school that I have forgot- 
ten several matters that I should have looked after. Are we 
not late? You know Colonel Baldgrave is punctuality it* 
•elf.” 

The gentleman drew out his watch, and, after glancing at 
it, said : — 

“ No ; we shall have at least ten minutes to spare. But 
what have you been doing to your carriage ? It seems to me 
as if some change had been made in it.” 

“ Only changing the color of the cushions and curtains, 
uncle. Do you not think it an improvement? I fancied the 
red too glaring, and thought this drab color would be more 
elegant.” 

“ It is better, May ; but how brilliant the day is I Every- 
body seems to be out. There is Carrie Deming and her 
brother. She has not been as social with you as formerly ; 
anything wrong ? ” 

“ No, indeed 1 ” was the emphatic response. “ When Car- 
rie and I fall out the sky will fall. But she has been very 
ill. I told you about it, but you have forgotten.” 

With a murmur of assent the gentleman leaned back again 
in the coup6 and fell into a reverie. He was full of cares 
and responsibilities ; a zealous and tireless worker in the 
vineyard of the Lord. The carriage rolled on for a time in 
the great thoroughfare, and both were silent. Presently the 
horses turned into a side street, and, after a few minutesf 
rapid driving, paused suddenly at the side entrance of a 
church. 

The clergyman and his niece alighting before the door dis- 
covered that another carriage was s4;andmg vacant near the 
same entrance. Passing under the gothic stone cross which 


WAMvnm. 


Id 

rannoimti&d the porch, the two entered the transept of tli« 
sacred edifice, and found the baptismal party seated near the 
chancel, and awaiting their arrival. The bright rays oi 
the morning sun flooded the arches and aisles of the temple, 
stealing grotesque colors and shapes iBrom the stained-glass 
windows, and flinging them upon the communion-rail and 
the chancel, or dancing upon the grayish walls in trembling 
pencils of light. 

May Delano knelt reverently at the communion-rail in 
silent prayer, while her uncle proceeded to the vestry to robe 
himself for the ceremony, A few stragglers, attracted by 
the sight of the baptismal party entering the church, had fol- 
lowed them in, and were distributed through the pews ; some 
seated in idle curiosity, and others kneeling reverently and 
awaiting the commencement of the ceremony. Among the 
latter were several females, evidently church-women. Some 
of them were elegantly attired, while others appeared from 
their dress to be of humble life. One of the unpretending 
class was draped in deep mourning, and had withdrawn her- 
self far from the communion-rail in a pew shaded by one of 
the pillars. She was kneeling and was closely veiled. Every 
face was revealed save that unknown face near the pillar. 
She evidently desired either to conceal her tears, or from 
some other cause to be unseen. Whatever curiosity might 
have been aroused by her motionless and muffled figure was 
soon forgotten in the opening of the solemn rite of Christian 
baptism. The tall figure of the clergyman, draped in his sur- 
plice, moved slowly from the vestry across the chancel and 
approached the baptismal font, preceded by his attendant. 
At the same instant May Delano, taking the infant from the 
arms of the nurse, moved towards the font, accompanied by 
the brother of Colonel Baldgrave, who was to act in the ca- 
pacity of godfather. The colonel and the nurse followed 
them, and all were soon grouped about the marble basin 
which constituted the font, and which was supported upon the 
wings of marble angels exquisitely carved. The clergyman’i 
attendant touched a hidden faucet under the font, and the 
basin was soon filled with crystal water. The infant rested 
quietly in the arms of May Delano, rolling its blue eyes in 
wonder upon the white vestments and calm, pale face of the 
Eeverend Thomas Delano. The christening robe, the gift of 
the godmother, was of the finest linen cambric and Valen- 
ciennes lAce,-t^e soft meshes of the latter falling on the 




<» 

dimpled &rms and neck of the child, frhll© the ex^^aielte paV 
tern of the wide lace at the bottom of the skirt was plainly 
revealed as it swept against the sombre background of th« 
mourning-dress of the heiress. 

All was hushed as the sweet, solemn voice of the Christian 
priest uttered the precautionary inquiry to avoid the dangei 
of repetition of the sacrament, which is deemed sacrilege : — 

“ Hath this child been already baptized, or no?” 

The responses of the godparents blended together in 
denial, and the ceremony went on. As the exhortation of 
the clergyman rolled in marvellous cleamefls and melody 
along the aisles of the church, summoning those present to 
invoke from God the Fathcii* the baptism of the Holy Ghost 
in behalf of the infant, the v^eiled mourner in the remote pew 
drew aside for a moment her sombre veil and gazed eagerly 
towards the font. Quickly her curiosity was satisfied, and 
she veiled herself closely again as if anxious to avoid recog- 
nition, or perhaps only to escape notice. Whatever may 
have been the object of her remaining incognito, she was 
perfectly safe in that momentary unveiling, for nil eyes and 
hearts were held captive by the solemnity and melody of the 
clergyman's tones. He alone could have seen her. He alone 
was looking in the direction of her remote lurking-place. 
But his thoughts were following only the sublime language 
and ideas of his ritual. He was opening the portals of eter- 
nal life to an innocent wanderer, a lonely waif, and an idle 
curiosity in the midst of his duty and in the temple of his 
God was no part of his character. He did not see her. He 
did not catch that brief glimpse of a beauty as startling as 
Psyche's when crowds erected altars to her as the secorid 
Venus, and as pale, too, as that beauty when her agonized 
heart sought her lost lord through the whole earth, and vainly 
courted self-destruction. In that brief unveiling was revealed 
one of those ideal faces which gleam in our holiest dreams 
close beside the great white throne of God. It was a glimpse 
of the hereafter, a flash from the Eternal City ; and instantly 
tiie dark veil fell. 

The voice of the priest fell then into the devotional mod- 
ulation of tlie accompanying prayer. Then followed the 
reading from the Gospel by St. Mark, and the brief exhorta- 
tion and tlie prayer. When the clergyman proceeded to 
address the sponsors upon the obligatioDS they were about 
to aasiime, the veiled mourner beside the pillar ipp^uml td 


n 




bend forward her bead in deeperilng intereBL But when the 
goloma demand was made to them in behalf of their charge^ 
Dost thou, in the name of this child, renounce the devil 
and all his works, the vain pomp and glory of the %Torld. 
with all covetous desires of the same, and the sinful desires 
of the flesh, so that thou wilt not follow nor be led by them ? 
she di’cw aside her veil again, as if it impeded her sense of 
hearing, and eagerly listened, as if some unknown and uir 
familiar beauty in the rites of the church was for the first 
time made manifest to her. She listened eagerly to the sue- 
cceding declaration of the sponsors of their belief in “all 
the Articles of the Chiistian Faith as contained in the 
Apostles’ Creed” and the promise to “ keep God’s holy will 
and commandments,” But when the clergyman took the 
child into his arms and said to the godparents “ Name this 
child,” her large, lustrous eyes gleamed with a strange light 
as she eagerly listened for their response. An expression 
of disappointment swept across her face when they answered 
in so low a key that the name could not reach her remote 
part of the church. At this instant the infant, who had thus 
far won golden opinions as to its orderly and quiet conduct, 
began to manifest signs of dissatisfaction at its change <jf 
position. A short cry burst from its lips, and it evidently 
was just on the point of commencing an elaborate protest 
against remaining in the Reverend Thomas Delano’s arms, 
when that gentleman, by a ruse peculiarly his O’wn, allowed 
his left arm, which encircled the child, to droop towards the 
font, so that one of the infant’s tiny hands fell splashing 
into the water. The contact with an element with which 
she was so familiar delighted the child, and she hushed her 
Inchoate cry and commenced splashing the water about as 
was her wont in the nursery. This amused her amply during 
the remainder of the ceremony, and her pleasant little “ coo, 
coo ” as she played with the water blended sweetly with the 
words of bai)tism. But, when the sound of the child’s voice 
in distress first penetrated the dim shadows of the church 
where the veiled mourner was kneeling, she started, and an 
expression of intense pity swept across her features. Hei 
eyes anxiously peered out towards the uneasy little one ; a 
strange yearning tenderness filled them, and" she made an 
involuntary motion as if she would rise from her knees. At 
this instant her attention was chained “by the announcement 
of the name given to child in the clear, distinct utterancf 


WAn,wnm» 


71 


of the priest ; “ Violet, I baptize thee in the n&iBi} of 
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.’' 

At this name she looked bewildered. Some powerful emo* 
tion thrilled her, for Iier hands grasped the front of the pew 
for support. She looked for a moment as if she would have 
fallen to the floor, so deathly pale did she become. But, 
controlling herself with an effort, she seemed to recollect the 
necessity of concealment, and, glancing quickly around to 
the scattered inmates of the pews before hef, she discovered 
that she was still unobserved, and immediately drew her veil 
over her features. No one had noticed her marvellous beauty 
in that momentary absorption of her faculties. Whatever 
motive may have brought her so closely veiled into the 
ganctuary of God, she was still unknown or unrecognized by 
those present. 


The loal of m&n 

Createth its own dwtiny of power; 

And, as the trial is intenser here. 

His being hath a nobler strongth in hearen. 

/ Wiiiiwi, 

The intolerable heat of a July afternoon had penetrated 
every dwelling of the cit3^ It was the fourth week of an 
excessive drought. For thirty days not a drop of rain had 
fallen to cool the pavements or clean the gutters. No re- 
freshing breezes had arisen with the fall of the evening shades 
to relieve the intensity of the days of suffering and exhaus- 
tion. The brick walls of the dwellings and shops, and the 
pavements of the streets had become so thoroughly heated 
by the burning rays of the sun, that at night they emitted 
caloric like the sides of a baker’s oven. In the cleanly and 
broad streets of the up-town district it was fearful enough, 
but, in the narrow and garbage-filled thoroughfares where the 
poor congregate, it was like a special scourge of God ; for 
there where the dogs lay panting upon the door-steps with 
lolling tongues, and half-clad children crept forj."etf\il of 
their play under the shade of door-ways and a steneh 


n 


WAMWtCK. 


from rotting vegetables and pools of sta^ant and foul waKfi* 
rose upon the air, and, blending with the sufibcuting heat, 
bred disease, pollution, and death. When a faint wind 
breathed over the streets, it was so heated and impure that it 
brought no refreshment, but only gathered and spread the 
volatile dust, whirling it into bloodshot e3’^es, and driving it 
into feeble and almost exhausted lungs. Strong and brawny 
machinistsj broad-shouldered laborers with spade and pick- 
axe, hardy cartmen, and sailors familiar with every clime, 
struggled and fretted in the intolerable prolongation of the 
heat and the drought. They spoke of sleepless nights when 
they had tossed uneasy upon their beds, and every other 
moment gathered to the hydrants and water-tanks to quench 
the inordinate cravings of their thirst. The unfortunate 
sick lay panting and unrefreshed upon their beds, with feeble 
pulse and feebler hope. The wounded in the hospitals sought 
to avoid the mortification of their wounds by frequent appli- 
cations of ice, and mothers hung sorrowfully and constantly 
over the couches of their feeble infants, weak and rash- 
covered from the intensity of the sun’s rays. The fashionable 
and the wealthy had long since fled to country homes and 
country resorts. The poor remained, and suffered, and died. 
In the churches prayers were offered for the gift of tinkling, 
cooling, gushing rain ; but still the All-Wise withheld his 
blessing, and the city suffered and sweltered in the sultry 
air. 

Come, then, for a moment, light-hearted and happy dweller 
in country shades, fanned by the cool breeze sweeping along 
your brookside home, — come to the suffering city and realize 
for once how gracious and gentle God has been to you. 
Come panting along this furnace thoroughfare ; bear for a 
little while and patiently this loathsome air, and heed not in 
contempt and shuddering these half-clad, gasping cliildrcn 
of God that line the way ; for in their behalf your Lord and 
Master died as really and truly and effectually as he died for 
you. Come, for the journey may unfold to you a realm of 
new and beneficial thought. Perhaps j^ou have imbibed the 
great and thrifty and prevailing impression that none in this 
broad land can suffer the pangs of hunger, and poverty, and 
hopeless despair, unless through their own fault. Come and 
listen and learn, for you have those who are dear to you as 
life itself, those who are gifted and gentle, full of hope, full 
af rich, earnest ambition, manly in their tread, earnest in 


WjtMWim, 


78 


tti«lr hearts, your future hope und pride. You rear them 
tenderly, educate them generously, and hope for them the 
brightest and best success on earth. And yet in a moment, 
in the twinkling of an eye, your wealth, j-'Qur means, may be 
swept away by fire, by financial panic, or by war, and they 
be left alone to battle with the world. Do you feel quite sure 
that with that admirable education you can trust them all at 
once and inexperienced on the treacherous sea of life ? Do 
you not remember any noble, generous friends of yours who 
have foundered and gone down by unlucky fate, by sickness, 
or by fraudulent and wicked traitors ? Have you a noble, 
gifted boy, inheriting your own quick business talent, and 
yet with just enough of his mother’s gentleness and trust 
running through his veins to make you anxious over his 
career ? Come, then, to the city, and learn in this forlorn and 
filthy den of poverty to look hdndly upon every young and 
struggling man that crosses your path, for, unknown to you, 
he may have enjoyed the same grand start in life and the 
same favoring winds you have given to j^our beloved and 
beautiful. Come up this heated and creaking stairway, 
higher and higher and higher still. Fear not this momentary 
deprivation of your comfort and your ease, for yonder in the 
garret lies one who had a father once, a mother, too, gentle 
and beautiful as the one that nursed your boy. There he 
lies, helpless, deserted, and alone. He has struggled nobly, 
he has never faltered in the employment of every faculty 
God has given him, and yet he has failed, failed utterly, and 
has fallen in his harness in the midst of earnest, unremitting, 
noble toil. Upon his beautiful head the cruel feet of Ate 
have trodden, and in that suffocating garret her evil spirit 
reigns supreme. 

Week after week, and month after month, has that pros- 
trate man clung to those scattered papers which strew his 
wretched table, in the vain struggle to win from them bread, 
and honor, and reputation. By the light of the early dawn 
has he risen, and, after swallowing his scanty crust of bread, 
and his cup of cheap tea, resolutely and patiently seated 
himself to copy the legal papers given him by a prosperous 
firm of lawyers. From the pittance per folio allowed him 
by these business-driven jurists, has he derived the means 
to pay for the rent of his garret, his daily morsel of bread, 
his fire, and his writing materials. To secure this pittance, 
ba has risen at dawn, and worked till soiuiet, never leaving 


u 


ffdMWTCX* 


hit room except to return the origin&ls and his copy to th« 
owners. The morning sun has arisen upon him for months 
and found him ever driving that rapid pen, scratchy scratch, 
scratch, over the paper. The noontide blaze has heated his 
garret to furnace heat, and still the ever-hurrying pen sped 
on. The evening shadows have fallen, and, while a ray ol 
light remained, the resolute and earnest pen .marked down 
summons and complaints, demurrers and decrees, deeds and 
mortgages, leases and charter-parties, bonds and judgments, 
and all the legal paraphernalia and technical phraseology 
by which property is transferred, contracts solemnized, and 
litigation carried on. Then, when the shadows of the night 
obliterated every trace of line and letter upon his paper, his 
daily work for humble bread was done. Then, with aching 
eyes, and weary back and arms, he turned to his own pecu- 
liar aim and purpose in life. The daylight work had been 
almost purely mechanical. The toil to which he now de- 
voted himself was that which demands the employment of 
the brain, the use of that delicate and wonderful mechanism 
which is the lever that moves the world, the motive 
power of human action, which assimilates man to the divin- 
ity. Carefully cultivated and judiciously improved, that 
power of analysis and creation which appropriately reigns 
in the crown of the head, dilates, fructifies, develops into 
new firmaments of intellectual stars, and daily reaches 
nearer and higher to that ideal brain with which the celes- 
tials shall be endowed. But, overworked, overstrained, too 
closely concentrated upon one object, that power becomes 
exhausted, diseased, and by a wise dispensation of God is 
furnished with an alarm bell to sound the signal for rest and 
forbearance. Like telegraphic wires, the nerves run from it 
to every seat of consciousness and pain in the human organ- 
ization, and, when those delicate sigzsals vibrate, the wise 
man falls upon his coucji and sleeps. 

But the lonely and poverty-stricken student sought a 
home, a ' crown, among the immortals. The Olympus to 
which he aspired was an intellectual realm, where, in com 
pany with the poets, authors, and benefactors of mankind, 
he might ever reign in the hearts of present and future gener- 
ai ions, as one who had struggled and triumphed in his ef- 
forts to make men better, more unselfish, and purer by his 
pen. Hour after hour had he written, and reflected, and 
giveu reiu to bis bn^native powers, by his persua^ 




n 


logic, illustrated by new metaphors, and purified by 
crystal waters from the classic fountains of the past, he 
might prove a career of purity, self-sacrifice, and honor to be 
the most alluring path for a human soul. He toiled on, 
night after night, allowing himself brief intervals of sleep, 
that he might trace through the pages of fiction a noble life 
terminating in a blissful eternity. The Elysii Campi of \ is 
imagination were regions of perpetual intellectual and se\ - 
8UOUS spring. That which was most prized on this earth — 
the love of art, the love of scenery, human love, the love 
of beauty, and the aspirations of learning — was all to re- 
ceive new development and perfect satisfaction beyond the 
valley of death. Boldly and searchingly he had analyzed 
the frivolities in which society is engrossed, alluringly’’ had 
he painted the wonders of scientific discovery, and the de- 
lights of learning. In the persons of his hero and heroine 
he had depicted a higher life for man and woman, assimilat- 
ing itself to the life of the man-God, a blended career of 
works and studies in the interest of humanity. He aimed 
in his work to instruct, and to guide his fellows towards a 
life which should deify virtue and prepare for a better life 
hereafter. Pursuing investigations which his early classical 
education suggested, he had time and again secured a tome 
of antiquity from a public library of the city, to which the 
legal firm that employed him as a copyist had secured him 
admittance. From such sources he shed light and illustra- 
tion upon his work. It was a learned and entertaining nar- 
rative of virtue from the earliest ages. Around the memory 
of the illustrious son of Sophroniscus, the statuary, he wove 
an exquisite wreath of poetry and beautiful description. 
TJornparing the sophists of his own land to the renowned 
rhetorician of lulis, he traced the sad career of perverted 
genius in ancient and modern days, following it to a - grave 
of shame and a memory of eternal reproach. But, for the 
development of beauty in art and religion, he fearlessly an- 
nounced himself a champion. Tracing the history of paint- 
ing from the days of the illustrious pupil of Hemophilus to 
the exquisite creations of Christian art as manifested in the 
schools of Dusseldorf, he proclaimed it to be a great agent 
of refinement in religious idealism, blending witn its sister 
art, music, in a powerful influence over heart and brain, 
loading men upward and onward to that celestial home 


WAMmCM, 


Inhere the perfection of melody and harmony shall alone be 
realized. 

Maintaining that, from the earliest ages to the presenti 
those who have devoted life to the pursuits of gain or glory 
have lost the true peace and joy of existence, while the dev- 
otees of science and the benefactors of tlieir fellow-beings 
have avoided the worst stings of life, and escaped that ner- 
vous unrest which appertains to business and ambition, he 
presented in the person of his hero one clothed in the wis- 
dom of the past and the present, and with one hand grasp- 
ing the casket of ancient lore, reaching forth to the crown 
of glory which the Righteous Judge shall award to him 
alone who loves and benefits humanity. He contrasted the 
venerable pagan and philosopher of Samos, clothed in his 
long, white robe, with flowing beard and golden crown, with 
the Christian sage, simple and unostentatious in his dress, 
and kneeling every morning before the altar of God in sup- 
plication that the acquisition of wisdom might render him 
humble, just, and generous to his fellows, and that . he might 
be deemed worthy to wear alone the crown of thorns in which 
his Master was mocked. 

Under the magic of his pen history sprang to a new life, 
clothed in the halo of romance, and yet leaving indelibly 
upon the mind true facts which could never die, and which 
tended to excite in readers love of ancient research and 
critical analysis of historical records. His purpose was 
noble, and on every page arose the figure of virtue robed 
in white and ever triumphant and beautiful. But the over- 
worked brain revolted at the excessive toil. Deprivation of 
sleep and rest gradually undermined that noble citadel of 
the head. The sinewy frame lost flesh, the cheek paled, the 
rich blue eyes burned with a sti*ange and fearful lustre, and 
at the junction of the brain and spinal cord a painful 
sensation came daily and nightly to disarm the scholar, of 
blunt his pen. Impatient at the interruption, he bound 
about his temples a towel soaked in water, and fearlessly 
worked on. Far into the lonely night flashed the rays of 
his lamp. A resolute will bent over that plain, pine table, 
but now, alas ! it was encased in a feeble frame. Lower and 
lower sank the light in its socket, and its fading rays cast 
upon the wall a shadow vague and fearful of an emaciated 
scholar defying the laws of his being, and obeying only thi 
dictates his Indomitable will. 


WAMWUat, 


n 


Bat night after night, and week after week, and montli 
after month, ho liold on. At last a shock came, gently at 
first, but a siitficient warning to the wise. A sudden and 
violent jar or vibration of the nerves of his arm startled the 
student, and he raised his towel-bound head from his man- 
uscript. A smile passed over his wan face at the alarm it 
occasioned, and then he resumed his pen. The hour passed 
and no further jarring of the arm returned, and he laid aside 
his manuscript and fell heavily upon his bed for a brief 
sleep, a sleep of two hours, till the dawn should come to 
rouse him for the day’s work, — the steady copying of the 
legal documents by daylight. When the dawn arrived he 
waked, from the sheer force of habit, and resumed his. daily 
toil. But a dull, heavy pain bound his head like an iron 
band, and when he arose from his table at length, to return 
the legal papers to the office of the attorneys, a dizziness 
overcame him for a moment, so that he grasped at the wall 
of the room for support. This passed away, and he hur- 
riedly descended the creaking and narrow stairway to the 
street, and made his way to his employers’ office. They 
noticed his increasing paleness and loss of flesh, and com- 
mented upon it ; but he turned the subject lightly and asked 
for more material with which to earn his bread. They, too, 
were laborious members of their profession, and had grown 
thin in midnight studies, and took no further notice of the 
haggard, poor, elegant-limbed young man, who came so 
often for their papers. But, as the student left their office, 
the senior advocate remarked to his partner : — 

“ That man has an eye like Apollo when he met the mar- 
iners after their adventure in the Bay of Crissa. I have 
seen the painting abroad, and I never shall forget the ex- 
pression of that eye.” 

“ Ah ! ” was the response of his busy partner. “ No 
doubt he is some nullius films of some one of our city 
gentry. Where are those Beekman papers, Robb? I have 
mislaid them.” 

The last speaker had served the elder Earle profession- 
ally in several important suits, and received from his hands 
princely fees. But this destitute son was entirely unknown 
to him. One word would have made him Constant Earle's 
friend. But the outcast was too proud to give the firm hia 
real name, and indeed was utterly ignorant of the fact th&X 
oae of them had been his father’s confidant and legal tui\d 
T* 




n 

ier. H&d the identity of the poor copyist of law papein 
with the son of the great merchant prince, Earle, been 
tablished at that interview, there wcnld have been develop* 
ments which would seriously mar the serene flow of this 
narrative. 

The weary student left the office with new papers, slowly 
descended the stairs to the busy street, and with a dull pain 
binding his head made his way along the thoroughfares, and, 
regaining at length his own narrow and filthy street, hur- 
ried along its heated pavements, and ascended to his gaiTet. 
The air glowed like a furnace in the summer sun, and when 
he had reached his quarters, just beneath the roof, he sank 
upon his bed with exhaustion, the legal papers falling neg- 
lected upon the floor. It was the height of the “ heated 
term/^ How long he remained upon his bed he knew not. 
Fe awoke to find the sun just sinking behind the aged and 
filthy tenement houses on the west. He had slept long and 
heavily, and from the fearful heat and closeness of the place 
he was covered with perspiration like israter. He arose in 
alarm, and gathering up the papers from the floor, proceeded 
to copy them^kt his table. Before the daylight had vanished 
he was busily at work, with a wet towel bound tightly about 
his head. Slowly drooped the sun to its western bed, as 
rapidly he wrote on. The shadows deepened, the great 
fiery ball of red, which indicated another day of heat and 
drought, disappeared. The shrill voices of half-naked chil- 
dren, yelling and romping in the street, reached his ears 
and woiTied his overtaxed nerves. The hot blood mounted 
to his brain and his eyes grew bloodshot. Still, with a will 
which surmounted every obstacle, he wrote on. The night- 
shadows, which at length obscured his manuscript, drove him 
from his table for a lamp. He lighted it, and placed it near 
his papers. He paused a moment before resuming his 
labors. The heat was fearful, and his cup of agony was 
nearly full. He sat upon the side of his wretched pallet to 
rest. At that instant his arm twitched violently. He 
passed a hand over it to soothe the violent jarring sensa^ 
tion. A sheet of bright red light passed before Ms eyes. 
A sound deep and solemn as far off church-bells boomed ul 
his ears. With a cry, a faint, piteous call on the name of 
hia dead mother, and his ever-living God, he fell senaelesf 
»^os8 his pallet. It was the fearful disease, phrmitiSr 

I'be lamp-light biu ned feebly in the darkueea and sileao« 


WdMmcM. 


n 


of the gMTet. Through the open and miniature fdndow 
poured in the heated and offensive atmosphere of the 
crowded city. Through it came also the yelping of curs, 
the rattle of carts, the screams and laughter of vagrant 
children romping in the darkening streets, and the vague 
hum of business closing up for the day. VcC^es of cartmen 
shouting to each other, or cursing the laggard pace of their 
overheated beasts, mingled with the roar and clash of ma^ 
chinery kept running through the night. Amid a Babel of 
sounds and an evening of suffocating air, the last gleams on 
the western sky faded out and were lost. The prostrate 
man heeded them not. His eyes and face were swelling 
rapidly. A red flush was stealing over his countenance, and 
at intervals he muttered incoherent sentences or moaned in 
un^nsciousness. There was a violent heat in his head, 
which gradually pervaded his whole body. His pulse was 
strong, hard, quick f his tongue was furred and his breath- 
ing heavy. Occasionally he turned in restlessness, and, 
opening his bloodshot eyes, raved in delirium. But there 
was no one to hear him, none to succor him. He was alone. 
The stained and heated rafters of the roof showed dimly 
above him. Across their dusty lengths, spiders had woven 
their webs and silently watched for the droning flies, which 
had hastened in at the lighting of the lamp, and now buzzed 
about the head of the prostrate student, or settled fearlessly 
upon his face. Tenderly had he been reared, and kindly 
soothed in every illness by a mother whose touch was peace, 
and a sister whose voice was melody. He was now fighting 
off the grim monster alone, his sole weapons inarticulate 
words and arms flung at intervals back upon his bed. A 
large rat, allured by the silence, gnawed vigorously at a 
plank in the floor, seeking an entrance. Darker and darker 
grew the night, brighter and brighter spread the scarlet flush 
over the face of the sufferer, and louder and more fearlessly 
gnawed the rat at his task. The noises in the street died 
slowly away till at length no sound was heard save the 
monotonous roll of the machinery in a distant iron mill, and 
the solitary howl of a dog rising at intervals mournfully 
upon the air. The busy world was falling gradually to 
sleep, and he was being loft neglected in his agony. The 
cruel Parcffi had spun for him a fearful destiny, — the 
oessfUl, struggling life of genius clothed in rags, and ttts 
solitary death-bed unattended by a single iVlend. 




Ttie ^loom and silence of the midnight came ; np to thd 
shadowy throne swept the dusky queen, unattended by a 
single star, and as she poised her sceptre over the hushed 
earth the mournful toll of a city clock chimed the hour. 
The sufferer aroused, and, impatient at the sound, opened his 
eyes and moaned in unison. Then the lids closed in a long- 
continued and death-like stupor. The hours rolled on, and 
no succor came. At intervals consciousness returned for a 
moment to intensify his agony, and then he murmured that 
word so Ml of tender memory, of agonizing loss, “ My 
mother.” Alas I she had long'shice sped to the better land, 
where all tears are wiped away, and the yearning cry of 
mortal agony was answered only by the silence and the 
•tilling air. Alone, alone, with all his wonderful beauty 
and ^ generous heart, his face gleaming with all the 
radiant loveliness of Myrrha’s son, his emaciated figure 
fashioned in all the grace, and symmetry, and power of 
Agonius, and his voice and soul ever as eloquent on the 
•ide of valor and wisdom as the faithfiil Mentor. 

Morning came at length, and with it came the agonizing 
heat of the tireless drought. The sun arose upon the awak- 
ened city, and brought a drier air, a more painfhl glare, and 
a more exhausting infiuence than on the day before. Soon 
its fearfhl rays penetrated the garret, and the half-conscious 
man struggled to rise, and, falling backward, gasped for 
water. No precious drop was there. An agonizing thirst 
had come, the fttrred tongue was whiter, and the trembling 
lips more parched, and the body more fevered than when the 
sun went down. In the struggle and the sense of helpless- 
ness, consciousness at length vanished once more, and the 
gradually weakening limbs relaxed and lay like death. 

Hour after hour passed by, and the sinking sufferer still 
moaned on in delirium and loneliness. The disease had 
made a fearM stride, and still no succor came. The sun 
mounted to the zenith, and the garret air glowed with a 
deadlier heat and a fouler stench. The neglected phrenitis 
must soon develop into raving madness. And thus the 
noon passed by. The hour of two was marked by a distant 
dock when the eyes of the sufferer opened suddenly and 
glared upon a woman, tall and startling as the one that 
sprang frcmi the skull of Jupiter at the blow of Vulcan's 
htmmm axe. 


9^AMmng. 


H 


dLUvitt i. 

For fko h»ih lirod wiU b«ort lod wal olhro 
To All tkat makM life be««tii^ Aftd &ir. ' 

Ajbkka* 

“ IxEZ-rous chez vous avant qu*U viennef ” 

The inquiry was addressed by a coachman in livery to a 
lady on the sunny side of forty, for whom he had opened the 
carriage door, and who stood upon the pavement in momen- 
tary uncertainty of purpose, 

“ Noy>s resterons id jusqu’ d ce quHU viennmt^*' was the 
reply, as his mistress swept her way through a crowd of 
children who had gathered on the walk before a miserable 
row of tenement houses, to gaze upon the mai vel of an ele- 
gant equipage and a fine lady in her summer plumage. Un- 
mindful of the excessive heat and the crowd of dirty children, 
she glanced up at the number over the door of one of the 
filthiest houses in the row, and, finding that she was correct 
in her first glance, she gathered up her elegant skirts into as 
narrow a compass as possible, with a view of entering the 
hall before her. As she pressed in through the narrow en- 
trance the children crowded around the door to watch hei 
proceedings. To their amazement she passed on along the 
hall, and commenced the ascent of the &st rickety flight of 
wooden steps, mounting fearlessly upward with her flower- 
spotted organdy rustling against the walls on* either side, 
and her white plumes nodding from her straw flat. She 
paused a moment at the first landing, and then pushed on up 
the second flight of steps, after an exclamation regarding the 
offensive smells about her. The second floor was crowded 
with families of tenants remarkable alike for their poverty 
and their want of cleanliness. Upon arriving at the third 
floor, she discovered the same evidences of numbers and filth. 
She was now panting violently from her exertions, and the 
intolerable heat of the place. Nevertheless, upon looking 
about her, she discovered a fliglit of rough wooden steps, 
evidently leading to a garret. Up these she resolutely pushed 
her way till she reached a door. She rapped sharply ujxjn it 
with the little red coral handle of her white silk parasol. Re- 
oehring no response, she repeated her summons. The sams 


WARwnm, 


rti y Bterious silence prevailed. An anx iou 5 expression crossed 
iicr face, and she raised the lat<?h of the door unbidden. Ah 
she pushed the door inward it creaked sharply on its hinges. 
She was nearly stifled by the terrible heat flung downward 
from the rafters and shingles. Closing the door behind her 
involuntarily as she entered, she found herself in the presence 
of an unconscious human being. Ho was lying upon the 
outside of his simple couch, with his garments on. His face 
was fearfully scarlet, and, as she approached his bedside, his 
eyes opened and glared upon her. He was evidently delir- 
ious. She could obtain no response to her inquiries, and, 
laying aside her pai*asol and gloves, she drew his only chair 
to the bed and, seating herself, gazed upon his emaciated 
features. 

“ Good God 1 ” she exclaimed, in profound sympathy, 
‘‘ what suffering I and so beautiful too. Hands like a prince, 
and a mouth ii£e an angel.” 

A brief inspection of his countenance satisfled her that 
she had no time to lose. She glanced about the garret, and, 
seeing the scattered papers and the writing materials, real- 
ized at once that the disease was caused by excessive mental 
exertion. She went to the window, and, looking out, listened 
for the sound of carriage-wheels. She saw her own elegant 
establishment standing in the street, but she awaited the ar- 
rival of another vehicle. Turning from the window she 
carefully gathered up the legal papers and flung them into a 
box of manuscripts she found under the table. They ap- 
peared to be the only objects in the room worth preserving. 
But upon looking under the pillow of the bed she found a 
Bible. On the fly-leaf was written in a delicate hand ; — 

^CIoMtTAire EUaui niOM his Mothxb. 

«ftlled«t ia trouble, and I delivered thee; I answered thee in the ea> 
«ret places of thunder: I proved thee at the waters of Meribah.” 

It was a small but elegant edition of the Scriptures, and 
ffhe placed it with the manuscripts in the box. Notwith- 
standing t^e insufferable heat, she sat down there and pa- 
tiently waited. It was a strange sight, — that Indomitable 
lady, clothed in the costliest habiliments of fashion, and hav- 
ing at her command the luxuries and comforts attendant 
upon the ownership of millions, sitting so resolutely in char- 
ity and patience beside the couch of poverty and anguish, 
fea a gaiTetrecallmg the temperature of Hades. It would hav^ 


WJtMWPCX, 


as 

been difficult for the gay votaries of fashion who frequented he^ 
superb saloons on Fifth Avenue, where congregated the elite 
of the city, to recognize in this resolute watcher the cole- 
brated Madame Benon, whose entertainments attracted alikje 
the star of the foreign embassy, the ermine of the judge, the 
rose of the poet, and the wit of the litterateur. Her dinners 
in town, her breakfasts at her country villa, her patronage 
of art, of music, of song, of science, of philology, \\cre as 
well known to the ton of the metropolis as the literarj* 
soiree of Madame Botta, the tournament of Madame Paran 
Stevens, and the exquisite charity concert of Miss Boclenhei- 
mer. How limited a conception of the character of a woman 
of fashion does one glean from the rumors and gossip of 
society at the metropolis ! Madame Benon, independent of 
criticism, gave her entertainments and dinners, gathered 
about her congenial friends, frequented her box at the opera, 
enjoyed the cultivated society of artists and foreign embassa- 
dors, and dispensed her charities royalljq judiciously, and in 
her own way. For an entire winter she supported from her 
own purse a whole settlement of foreign emigrants congre- 
gated within a mile of Central Park. Along the halls of a 
hospital on Long Island Sound she wandered up and 
down, dispensing clothing to the destitute soldiers wounded 
in the cause of the Union. The poor, exhausted, homesick 
heroes gathered about her to receive the cooling and nour- 
ishing Suits she had purchased for them, and blessing her 
earnest, elo^iuent face, as she listened to their distress. Un- 
fettered by the prejudices of sectionalism, she carried to the 
rebel wounded on David’s Island clothing and delicacies, and, 
returning to the city, ransomed from the draft, at heavy price, 
two mechanics (drafted for the Federal army), at the eager 
supplication of their families. Miles away from her home 
she met an invalid, supported by the arms of two men, and 
sinking from extreme exhaustion. Descending from her csir- 
riage with the lady who accompanied her, she resigned th^ 
vehicle entirely to the sick man and his comrades, and 
walked with her friend two miles through the country dust 
and heat to a car. Her charities ever flowed generously and 
serenely from her impulsive heart. 

Then shall the King say unto thcju on his right hand, 
Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom pr< pan 1 
for you from the foundation of the world : for 1 was aa 
hongeredy and ye gave me meat ; 1 was thij sty, and ye gavr 


u 


tr^KWWtr, 


0)8 driak , I fras & stranger, and ye took ito in ; naked, and 
ye clothed me ; I was sick, and ye visited me ; I was in 
prison, and ye came unto me. 

“ Then shall the righteous answer him saying, Lord, when 
saw we thee an hungered, and fed theef or thirsty, and gave 
tkee drink? 

“ When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in ? or naked, 
and clothed thee? 

“ Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto 
thee? 

“ And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily 1 
say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the 
least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” 

Silently and seriously went on the watch beside the pros 
trate and the suffering. The burning rays poured in upon 
the watcher’s organdy, and hashed from the golden chain 
and jewelled clasp at her belt, as she bound a towel, soaked 
in the bucket of water she had noticed outside his door, upon 
the temples of the fallen man. At thc-frequent touch of her 
soothing application he opened his eyes, hazy and glaring 
with delirium, and muttered incoherently of the Lemaean 
Lake, whose waters restored the daughters of Danaus. At 
length, impatient of the long delay of those for whom she 
waited, she went to the window for a breath of air, so pain- 
fully oppressive had the place become. The atmosphere was 
as motionless as that of the fabled Tartarus. Her watch 
was finally relieved by the entrance of a burly man in awhile 
cravat, who pushed open the door without knocking, and ex- 
claimed : — 

“ Madame, your pardon ; I was detained by a patient who 
called at my office. This place is frightful. Get out of it just 
as quick as yon can. You will make yourself sick. Ah ! this 
is the case — I see at once what it is — phrenitis. No won- 
der, in such a den. Poor fellow ! what an intellectual de- 
velopment! And look at that frame too. He must have 
made a long fight of it.” 

The physician, with a face like a full moon, and black 
eyes glistening as those of Hippocrates when he announced 
his conviction, “Knowledge of medicine is the sister and 
companion of wisdom,” drew near to the couch and raised 
the sufferer’s hand. 

“ Hard, quick pulse,” he muttered, letting the arm Call 
back upon the couch. Then he added, in a louder tone, at 


wMitwrcr, 


HI 


Ms ke«n eyes scanned his ptatientfs scarlet face, “ must bs 
bled first thing, — yes, very first thing. But it will never do 
to keep this poor fellow here. I couldn’t bring the devil out 
of it in such a nest. He must be kept cool. I’ll shave his 
head and apply ice, but not here. This infernal den will 
neutralize every remedy.” 

“ I can take him to St. Luke’s if you think best,” repliea 
Madame Benon. “ Will it do to carry him in my carriage? 
We can wrap him in this blanket, and your man can hold 
him up. He came with you ? ” 

“ Yes ; he’s below with my horse. But do you think you 
can assume such a burden on yourself? You might save this 
poor fellow by putting him under the nursing he’s sure to 
receive at St. Luke’s. Will you do it, madame ? ” 

“ Certainly I will, and gladly,” was the response. “ But 
I must hurry out of this heat ; I’m growing faint under it.” 

“ Run downstairs, then, and send my man up here ; we’ll 
have him down and in your carriage directly.” 

Gladly availing herself of this direction, the lady made 
her way down into the street and sent up the doctor’s assist- 
ant to the garret. “Be sure and bring the manuscripts 
and the book with you,” was her direction, as the servant 
mounted the stairway. She then resumed her seat in the 
carriage to escape the violence of the sun’s rays. The nov- 
elty of elegant visitors, in that remote and foul neighbor- 
ho^, attracted a crowd of children and adults atiout the 
door. She secured the services of two of the latter to hold 
her own horses, and the physician’s spirited mare, that she 
might despatch her coachman to the assistance of the party 
In the garret. There was a longer delay than she had an- 
ticipated in the movements of the physician, and when at 
last he made his appearance supporting his patient, aided by 
the others, he informed her that he had already resorted to 
bleeding ; and when the body was safely deposited in her 
carriage, he gave her instructions for the nurse at the hos- 
pital. 

“ Inquire for Helen Blakely,” he said, “ and tell her I 
direct the same treatment as she gave to Mineras She un- 
derstands my system of treatment thoroiiglUy. Give her 
this written direction, and she will understand the reat.” 

He wrote, rapidly upon a slip of paper, ^ddrea^ to tb? 
Msperlntendexit of the hospital thus : — 
e 


WARWiClt, 


‘^Put patient, if possible, under care of H. Blfvkely^ 
shave head at once, and apply iced-water ; drain bowels with 
salts ; give 1 qr. gr. tartar emetic and 6 grs. nitrate of potash 
in solution, houidy, until skin is moist ; teaspoonful of Hoff- 
man’s anodyne liquor, every two hours, will tase pain, and 
give sleep. I will be around before midnight. 

“ McAllister.” 

With a quick bow of his moon-like head, he turned away, 
sprang into his buggy, with an agility surprising in one of 
his obesity, and was off. The carriage, with the invalid 
and his attendants, turned slowly, and moved on after his 
receding figure, — Madame Benon sitting with her feet upon 
the student’s manuscripts and legal pai.>ers which she had 
caused to be flung into the bottom of her carriage. 

Could the unconscious student liave known to whom he 
was indebted for his rescue from death, and the judicious 
plan pursued in securing that result, he would surely have 
recalled the lines of his favorite poet ; — 

Bat grant that actions best disooror man ; 

Take the most strong, and sort them as yoa can. 

The few that glare each character most mark, 

Ton balance not the many in the dark. 

What will you do with such as disagree ? 

Sappress them, or misoall them policy 7 ” 


Cfjapter £S. 

Bleganee floats about thee like a dress, 

Melting the airy motion of thy form 
Into one swaying grace; and loveliness, 

Like a rich tint that makes a picture warn, 

Is larking in the eheatnut of thy tress. 

WiLua. 

. '‘ Look out I Harry I ” The exclamation was accompanied 
by a sudden grip on the arm of the exposed gentleman, who 
rejoiced in that patronj^^mlc, and who was instantly jerked 
backward a pace or two in perfect bewilderment. At that 
instant a horse swept by like the wind, bearing a lady in a 
dark riding-habit, who sat erect and wore a gentleman’s 


WAnwroi, 


m 


black hat, wonncl with a blue Yeil. It was a narrow escape 5 
for the steed was largo and powerful, and dashed ahead with 
the tlan of Mazeppa’s untamed Tartar. She bowed slightly 
to the rescuer, while a smile of recognition lighted her face, 
and in another instant she was gone, with a cloud of dust 
circling after her, and follow^ed by a mounted groom, with 
top-boots, who was put upon his mettle to keep her in sight. 

“ I saved you from an inglorious fate, you scarred veteran 
of Shiloh I ” 

“Who the devil was it?” was the response. “ If all the 
women at Newport move at that pace, I shall steer clear of 
the crossings.” 

The last speaker wore a vest, with the button of the 
United States Navy, a suit of black, and a Panama straw 
hat. His arm was in a sling. 

“ That, sir, was a lady, to whom I intend to introduce you 
to-night. She will be at the ball ; and, as she has a pmchant 
for the naval service, you will be in her good graces at once. 
Her name is Delano. She is a New Yorker, an heiress, an 
orphan. She travels, piously, in the ‘ via media, it is 
said ; is of good family,, and will make somebody a good 
wife. But, for Heaven's sake, if she asks you to ride with 
her, make your will fii’st, and leave me that South American 
hammock you brought back from the Amazon expedition. 
Tve set my heart on that trifle.” 

The wounded officer linked his sound arm in that of his 
friend as they moved on, and asked : — 

“Is she beautiful, — this dasher, about whom you have 
wasted more words than I ever knew you devote in praise to 
any petticoat ? ” 

“She is that, — not only beautiful, but stylish, and intelli- 
gent too ; a rare combination. She will be the belle there 
to-night. Your friend. Miss McIntosh, can scarcely con- 
ceal her envy at the scores of men that girl manages to soften 
in the brain. She don't seek attention, but moves on natu 
rally enough and seems to gather up men as a magnet does 
needles. They seem to stick to her ; but once in a while 
she shakes them off, and when she does they drop dead 
enough ; they never follow her again. I reckon a woman 
who cares only for sensible men must be frightfully bored 
sometimes by the possession of beauty. If she's a lady it 
pains her to wound ; and some men will persevere until they 
get ffljubbed. But look to your moorings, or you'll be drift 


VTAMPmar, 


ing after her, too, in spite of your Castilian beauties, sad 
your other transatlantic fancies.” 

“And do you fancy,” was the quiet response, “that 1 
could ever forget my dark-eyed Carmen, the pride^ of Anda- 
lusia, with her fairy figure, and her raven hair dressed with 
flowers, dancing gayly to the sound of the castanets, and 
those dark, lustrous eyes gleaming with soul and tenderness, 
for the sake of some American amazon, who rides the men 
down in the public streets, and spits the hearts of gallant 
fellows as remorselessly upon her fan as I would so many 
quails at the fire? Nonsense, Blake ; there is no beauty and 
elegance like that of Spain, where modesty and gentleness 
are cultivated as the great aim afid object of woman’s life. 
I detest your women of strength; I’m afraid of them. 
Grive me a Spanish ball before your formal assembly in that 
heated room, to-night ; or, rather, give me a stroll with the 
mq/os and majas, the rural belles and gallants of Spain, as 
they tread the gallery that looks upon the Square of Vivar- ' 
rambla. What beautiful forms and flashing eyes pass by I 
while the rich swell and cadence of the bands of music min- 
gle with the joyous laughter and pleasantry that greet you 
on every side. That’s the country for life. Your New 
York belle is harmless. I can ward off every dart of Cu- 
pid.” 

“Pride goeth before a fall,” replied his friend. “Bui 
you give me an opportunity to present you to-night. I 
know your heart has absolutely crj’^stallized in the glance of 
beauty. But all men are vulnerable. Remember the son 
of Thetis.” 

“Rather a personal thrust, my friend,” responded the 
officer. “ You have forgotten that the wound in my heel, 
from that infernal shell, will exclude me from the circle 
who will solicit the hand of this divinity for a dance to- 
night.” 

“ Yes. I beg your -pardon, Harry. That little annoy- 
ance of yours had escaped my recollection. But you can 
bring the witchery of that crafty tongue of yours into better 
play from that very fact. The wound will interest her at 
the start. She is very patriotic — immensely.” 

“ That was a splendid gelding your divinity was riding,” 
remarked the naval hero, after a pause. “ He covered 
taaec with the ease of a thorough-bred. 1 caught one good 


fTAltWTCX, 


glimpse of his quality after my escape, and he was fleet as 
the lightning.” 

“ Ay 1 he is that,” was the response. “ He gave my 
roan a brush for two miles, and beat him twenty lengths. 
Miss Delano was riding him, and she is as sure in her seat 
as a jockey. She amazes me, but then her bay knows her by 
heart. He moves to the sound of her voice. She uses no 
whip.” 

“ What does she call him? ” 

“ Warwick, the indomitable culmination and omega of in- 
dependent baronetage. It is her own conceit, and I must 
confess the beast is aptly named. He is just as aristocratic 
and independent as that veteran noble, and when she is the 
rider everything is in harmony. She can make more out of 
the brute than any one. But you will see her ride. She is 
the toast here. But come and take supper with me, and we 
will go to the ball together I ” 

The two moved on slowly towards the lodgings of Colonel 
Bufort. The one was as celebrated for the brilliancy of his 
cavalry dashes in the southern war, as the other for his 
varied and invaluable services in the navy of his country. 

Later that evening an ambitious mother rallied her daugh- 
ter upon the same subject. 

“ If you’re not careful, Henrietta, that Miss Delano will 
monopolize Lord Carnochan altogether to-night. He admires 
her evidently^nd she plays aristocracy to perfection. You 
must not be so crazy to dance ; you miss so many good 
opportunities of securing desirable partners. If you dance 
with Henry Caperton every time he asks you, you will never 
secure anything desirable — never; ” and the judicious mat- 
ron fanned herself violently as she leaned back in her chair. 
She was elegantly attired in lilac moire silk, with lace 
flounces, and was superintending with unusual interest her 
daughter’s toilet. The crisis demanded that Henrietta should 
not be left entirely to the judgment of her dressing-maid. A 
foreign fish had ventured in the vicinity of her matrimonial 
nets, and her best piscatorial skill was in requisition. Her 
own tact had elevated her from the position of a mechanic’s 
daughter to that of a mistress of the coffers of a New York 
banker of princely wealth. The issue of that marriage was 
standing before a large mirror in attentive admiration of the 
labors of her/emme chamhre. She was blonde, and beau- 
tiful, and radiant in her misty robes of illusion and pink, 
•• 






the delicate texture of the white iliusion circling her necM 
and falling in long ends behind. A shadow swept across 
her fair face, and she answered quickly : — 

“ It destroys all the pleasure of society to be eternally 
scheming and watching people. Let her have him. If he 
don’t come after me I surely will never run after him. Papa 
says it’s vulgar to be courting men ; and his judgment is en- 
titled to respect, for he is fashionable authority, by his 
family as well as by his wealth.” 

And with this thrust between the joints of the maternal 
armor, she resumed her self-inspection in the glass. Never- 
theless, she possessed the same ambition as her mother, and 
was in pursuit of the same game, but by a more covert and 
judicious approach. Lord Carnochan had flattered her by 
his civilities, and she was already sufficient^ eager for his 
attentions to require no accelerating spur from her mother. 
Her jealousy was acute, and such reminders annoyed her 
vanity. Her superior acumen had disclosed to her the fact 
that the nobleman in question was anxious to replenish his 
almost exhausted treasury, that the sun of his title might be 
properly embellished with radiating golden glory. At pres- 
ent it resembled that rayless ball of fire which is suspended 
in the dull and dimming mists of his native land. She had 
secretly written to her indulgent father to hasten to his villa 
at Newport, and open its elegant doors for one of those 
magnificent and costly entertainments which disseminate the 
tidings of great wealth more effectually than individual 
rumor. Her greater discernment taught her that this lord 
would make greater sacrifices of his personal liberty for 
lucre than for beauty. “ Miss Delano is too refined,” she 
argued, “ to make display of her wealth, and thus I shall 
dazzle his lordship first. Let her bait for him with beauty 
and style ! I will fling in his eyes gold-dust.” This youth- 
ful schemer despised humble birth with the persistency and 
sternness of Anaxarete. Flinging her opera cloak over an 
arm as round and fair as Haidee’s, she gave one final adjust- 
ing fling to her skirts and announced her readiness to ao* 
company her mother to the ball. It was high time, as the 
enemy already occupied the field, and her dancing ta])let^ 
bore the register “ Ld. Carnochan, Lanciers.” 

As Madame Harcourt and her daughter, escorted by aa 
army lieutenant, entered the ballroom of the great hotel, two 
brilliant lines of couples extended down the floor, waiting ^ 


WAMWICK* 


#1 

the signal note of the marine band to advance vis-^^3. Misg 
Delano, having finished her engagement with the English 
lord, had withdrawn from the floor, and was the central figure 
of a group at the right of the orchestra. A white camellia 
glistened in the heavy braids of her chestnut hair, and her 
illusion skirt, puffed to the knee, swept away in a long train to 
the floor. The upper skirt of illusion was looped at one side 
with camellias, and the under skirts of illusion and tarlatan 
gave to the whole its misty, billowy effect. Her white silk 
corsage, with puffings of illusion and a fall ol point d'Alen(pn^ 
bore also a white camellia, bedded in dark, shiny leaves of 
green. She was talking with animation to her circle of ad- 
mirers, among whom was conspicuous the English lord. It 
was by no means an established certainty that this nobleman 
was not as susceptible to the power of simple beauty as other 
men, if one might judge from the rapt gaze he cast upon those 
sloping shoulders and that neck of swan-like grace. But when 
she turned upon him those matchless eyes in the interest of 
conversation, now sympathetic in appreciation of his remarks, 
and now expanding their dark pupils in brilliancy as some 
brief intensity of thought woke in her brain and gushed to her 
lips, he remembered the eyes of Haidee’s mother : — ^ 

** Bat her large dark eje showed passion’s foroe 
Though sleeping like a lion near a source.” 

She turned from him to address Colonel Bufort, who had just 
presented his friend Captain Henry Ransom, of the navy. 
Then, after a brief interchange of inquiries with him regarding 
mutual friends who were absent from the ball, she said to the 
wounded naval hero : — 

“ I am always delighted to meet the members of your pro- 
fession. If I were a man I should choose the life of a sailor, 
for not only can you cultivate to the highest perfection ttie 
accomplishments of the scholar, but you can enjoy frequent 
opportunities to visit classic and historic lands, familiarize 
yourself with monuments of past greatness, study the sea, the 
stars, and the storms, and at the same time never lose that 
fulness and activity of muscle which is the glorv of manhood. 
Thin, wan scholars tire me. Tliey are apt to trame and lose 
the vitality of manhood. Woman looks to man for protection, 
and admires the strong arm and the brave, free will. Hav« 
you ever tiled of your profession, Captain Ransom?'’ 


WAMWWK, 


n 


“Kever, except in calms, nautical and political,” ifai 
the curt response. At the same moment he bowed to a gentle- 
man who saluted him in passing. 

“ That face looks familiar. Captain Ransom ; who is it?” 

“ That is a very accomplished gentleman from your city, 
Miss Delano. 1 have met him in the Mediterranean and on 
the African coast. There is one of your scholars who is neither 
thin nor wan. His arm is like iron, and I know he is equal to 
hitigue and exertion of the severest nature. I have seen his 
qualities tested. His name is Earle, — Montrose Earle. You 
must have heard of the family.” 

Nothing but the wonderful self-command of the girl, and 
that instinctive tendency to avoid the sensational which pa- 
trician polish causes, prevented an exclamation. Though her 
eyes followed eagerly this stranger who had so long occupied 
her thoughts, she managed to reply with nonchalance : — 

“ I have heard the name. A wealthy merchant, I believe. 
His face betokens rare intelligence.” 

“ No,” was the response ; “ his father was the merchant, 
and died leaving the son a large fortune.” 

“ An only child?” 

“ I believe so. Miss Delano. I never heard Montrose Earle 
mention any other children.” 

“ A particular friend of yours, Captain Ransom?” 

“No, only an acquaintance ; which has never yet arisen to 
cue dignity of friendship. But I know him well enough to 
present him to you if it would afford you any satisfaction.” 

“ It would be bad taste certainly to decline an introduction 
to a scholar ; but if you will allow me to take your arm. Cap- 
tain, for a short walk on the gallery, I will be very grateful, for 
the air of this room is oppressive.” 

The officer extended his arm to her, and with a slight bow 
to the remaining gentlemen who constituted the group, the two 
moved slowly along the dancing hall as the ^idvancing and 
receding figures of the dancers would allow their passage. 
Arriving at length at the grand entrance of the hotel, they 
joined the promenaders who had left the ballroom for a moon- 
light walk on the broad piazza. The night was lovely, and 
the slow pace and earnest countenances of some of the ladies 
indicated that they had witlidrawn to the gallery with their 
gallants for other purposes tliau a breatli of fresh air. Like 
spirits in misty white they moved along, their beauty purified 
and softened by the pale moonlight in their faces. 


WAHWtCit. 


n 


Mmn Delano broke the silence : — 

“ I regret your inability to dance, Captain Ransom. But 
I am sure you possess resources enough within yourself to care 
little for this one deprivation, which I trust will not long con- 
tinue. But no doubt in your many foreign adventures you 
have witnessed so much greater perfection and elegance in the 
terpsichorean art, that you care little for our formal dances.” 

“ I am always interested in the pleasures of my country- 
women,” was the gallant response ; “ and if all dance as 
elegantly as Miss Delano I should deem my experiences in 
that art abroad as eclipsed.” 

“ Never mind the customary and gentle breath of flattery 
our sex expect, but consider all those pretty things as said 
and over with, and tell me some of your adventures in Spain. 
I came out here to escape such compliments, and if you wish 
me to esteem you, avoid personalities in my regard, and give 
me some bright pictures from your storehouse of scenes and 
adventures abroad.” 

The officer at once went on another tack, and in a few 
minutes found his companion as much absorbed in his con* 
versation as the ladies in -the gallery were in that of their 
escorts. 

“ I will give you,” he said, “ something more substantial, 
from my journal in Spain, than a narrative of dances and 
fetes. If, as a true American woman, you aspire to literary 
cultivation and to a broad and generous appreciation of for- 
eign lands, you will be interested in that development of 
literature which glorified the Saracen ascendency in the 
peninsula. By the way, this may not interest you, after all. 
Perhaps you have visited Spain.” 

“ No,” was the response, “ go on. I have visited nearly 
every kingdom in Europe but that. That is a sealed book 
to me.” 

“ Well,” he continued, “ I have visited nearly every pub- 
lic library of consequence in Spain, and in some of them, 
particularly in those parts which were occupied by the 
Moors, I have found data convincing me that the Arabs, 
during their occupancy of Grenada, attained a position of 
literary culture far in advance of Christian Europe. I d<» 
not mention this in derogation of Christianity or religion. 
ITou recall, no doubt, the fact that when the Jews for so 
long a period occupied the proud position of the chosen 
people of God, they were fhr inferior in the attainments of 


14 


VTAMWim. 


litQr&ture and the adyancement of the arts and sciences 
the pagan nations around them. To be God's people, theK, 
is not necessarily to possess the best things of this world. 
Christianity refines and cultivates, no doubt, but it is not 
the eureka of worldly attainments or benefits. Men who 
despise it ascend even now the highest pinnacles of scientific 
attainments. Bii|, under the supremacy of the Arabs in 
Spain, the progrelh of elegance and culture, physical and 
mental, astounded Europe. This wonderful people improved 
the soil of Spain to a perfection which it has never since 
known. They dmded the waters of rivers, and distributed 
them in channels over the country, and produced upon its 
soil fruits and grains from remote countries. I have studied 
the ruins of their splendid architecture, and marvelled at its 
elegance, durability,' and beauty. I sat by moonlight amid 
the ruins of the palace of the Alhambra, that glorious struc- 
ture which could contain thirty or forty thousand men. 
When the Moors held it, a wall encircled it that boasted more 
than one thousand towers. 

But when I studied, in the Escurial and other libraries, 
the historical records which indicated the intellectual devel- 
opment of these dark-visaged invaders, I was less disposed 
to go into ecstasies over the wonderful schools of my native 
land, and our moderate libraries. On the plain of Grenada 
alone were fifty colleges, and the most superb libraries were 
met on every side. 

“ There is one name, connected with the advancement of 
literature among this singular people, which deserves to be 
wreathed in eternal honor. Alhakem, employing his power 
and influence as one of their monarchs, collected from tlie 
remote corners of the earth tomes, scientific, historical, and 
poetical, and by munificent expenditures established a library 
of six hundred thousand volumes. From every quarter of the 
globe scholars crowded to his capital to contribute their 
literary oflerings for the advancement of his people, and to 
share his munificent patronage and hospitality. The records 
mention, also, accomplished female scholars, who attained 
eminence in jurisprudence, philosophy, poetry, and theology. 
It was a brilliant reign, and its elegant influences passed 
down the ages.” 

Miss Delano stood at that moment leaning over the rail 
Ing of the gallery, and looking upw’ard towards the moon. 
Its soft, fhu light revealed her fac^e, thoughtful, and in thf 




n 

act of listening intently. Her imagination was at work apon 
the images called up by her companion’s description, Hs 
talked on in low, musical tones, and she made no effort, to 
interrupt him. Suddenly he paused and her castle in the 
air faded. 

“ Allow me to examine your fan, Miss Delano.” 

She was startled, but extended it to him without a word^ 
and looked curiously at him. 

Opening it, the officer held it up in the moonlight. It was 
of white silk, on a frame of delicately carved ivory. In the 
centre of it was a painting which he carefully examined, auct 
then remarked ; “It is exactly what I supposed it to be when 
you opened it in the ballroom, — Ibrahim Ebn Abu Ayub, the 
astrologer nodding to the silver lyre of the Gothic princess. 
You remember the legend, of course.” 

“ Certainly ; it is as familiar to me as the Legend of 
Sleepy Hollow. But is it not exquisitel}^ conceived and fin- 
ished ? Notice the pearls in her raven hair, and the golden 
chain about her neck supporting the lyre, and the stars 
gleaming far away through the fissure in the cavern. It was 
a souvenir, painted for me by Pelazo, a Spanish artist, who 
was grateful to me for a slight service. But why did you 
pause so abruptly ? ” 

He replied quietly, as he returned the fan, “ It was one of 
those painful manifestations of female curiosity which dis- 
illusion us sometimes in despite of our desire to idealize all 
women. Some one paused behind us to catch the tenor of 
our discourse. Yonder she goes in pink and white. The 
gentleman with her remonstrated, ‘ No, no, I would not listen 
for the world.’ ” 

Miss Delano glanced after the receding couple. The 
female was Miss Harcourt, and the lip of the heiress slightly 
curled, as she remarked, “ I know who she is. The plebeian 
current in her veins must ever assert itself. But do tell me 
about that gentleman on whose arm she is leaning. He has 
a remarkable face. Is he one whom you would endorse as a 
desirable acquaintance ? You called him Montrose Earle.” 

From the instant her eyes fell' upon that short, compact 
figure in the ballroom, had she been contriving to lead the 
conversation naturally to a discussion of his character and 
history. For months had he been the subject of her curiosity. 
Night after night had she aw&keaed with a start from dreams 
tu which he reigned the ocntral figure. Hometimes he stood 


H 


iTd timer 


over her ootich with gleaming lantern, demanding her instant 
snrrender of the note signed T^nth’ the mysterions initials. 
At other times, through ever receding halls and chambers, 
had his Napoleonic figure pursued remorselessly a glorious 
ideal of manly beauty and grace, whose career seemed ever 
beset with snares, and shadows, and pitfalls, and who ever 
struggled into life again, and majestically and proudly 
moved onward in renewed hope and energy. At other times, 
in waking intervals of the night, had she heard, through the 
partition wall which <Uvided her sleeping apartment from 
the sanctuary of Montrose Earle, the low hum and click of 
miniature machinery, and at long intervals a jarring sound 
like that caused by the closing of a ponderous door. A 
fearful conviction that she slept every night next to the 
haunt of a successful murderer was constantly present to 
her. Towards him the repugnant instincts of her nature 
ever were alert. She had never looked upon his face. She 
knew him only from his miniature when a mere youth, and 
from the descriptions given by her neighbor, Mrs. Secor. 
Her imagination had conjured up his powerful, but not sym- 
metrical frame, with its massive head and clear eyes of blue, 
his regular features, and his resolute but flexible mouth, 
showing dimly amid a mass of brown beard, oriental in 
luxuriance and neglected length, which flowed upon his bold, 
prominent chest with the freedom of a lion's mane, and the 
cleanliness of a petU-maitre, 

But now the hour had arrived when she might meet him. 
Every dictate of curiosity, everj^ generous impulse awakened 
in behalf of the outcast and beautiful Constant who haunted 
her dreams, but was a pure myth to her daily life, prompted 
her to accept an acquaintance which might eventuate in the 
discovery of the truth, and the eviction of the unjust. Would 
not her female tact elicit clues from his unwary language ? 
Was there no weakness in the career of a successful villain, 
no opening crevice for the w^edge of intellect, that constant 
study and observation might disclose ? She had pondered 
these questions long. They arose with renewed pertinency 
and force when the Rubicon of acquaintance rushed closed 
before her. ^ 


WMjmim, 




Xii. 

Mav« I set in my time heurd lions roar ? 

Tamiwg of ran 8uum< 

•• I KNOW nothing of the intrinsic character of the maiL 
My associations with him have been conventional rather than 
Intimate. Ho is brave, cultivated, and refined. That I caii 
vouch for. I know several gentlemen intimately who would 
deem it their duty to deny any aspersions upon his character. 
I think I would be perfectly safe in stating that Mr. Earle is 
a proper acquaintance for any lady. I would not hesitate to 
introduce my own sister to him.” 

The last two sentences were uttered soUo voce, as the sub- 
ject of the conversation was returning down the gallery with 
j^ss Harcourt. When they had passed, Miss Delano re* 
sumed her inquiries : — 

“ Bravery prejudices me in favor of men. You have wit- 
nessed this in Mr. Earle, then?” 

“ I have seen him beard a lion, — a frantic, wounded lior 
of South Africa, — which is considered no trifling affair. Miss 
Delano.” 

“ I imagine that to be as conclusive evidence of courage 
as any you could cite, captain ; but tell me about it.” 

“ It is what we sailors term a long yam, and you are here 
for dancing purposes, I apprehend.” 

“ Never mind the dancing ; it is no novelty for me. Grive 
me the story in all its fulness and detail. There are some 
chairs just vacated ; let us secure them.” 

They moved along the gallery to the seats, and Miss Del- 
ano contrived to secure a position where her own face was in 
shadow, and her companioifs in the full glare of the moon. 
The naval oflScer, fascinated by the loveliness of his listener, 
and stimulated by her earnestness, exerted his powers of de- 
scription. There was just dash enough of gray hair through 
his black locks to suggest the veteran of seafaring life and 
adventure, and just spirit enough in his tones to arouse the 
romantic element in the girrs organization to the highest 
pitch. 

“ Imagine a great plain sti’etching away l>eroro you in 
fhli blaze of an African sun, covered with graaa and 
9 


98 


m' turner. 


frtth occasional trees of loltj height, fdth. dense , leafy heada. 
At intervals the plain was marked off into grassy fields 
copses of the delicate-leaved mimosa, whose blossoms were 
golden-hued. The plain resembles a park bounded on the 
west by a lofty cliff, several hundred feet in height. On the 
east was traced in the distance a glittering thread of light, — 
the channel of a small river. From the very foot of the pre- 
cipitous wall of rock or western boundary gushed a spring, 
whose waters moving quietly ado>vn the gentle slope of the 
plain formed a few hundred yards away a miniature lake, 
upon whose tranquil bosom lay sleeping the blue water-lily 
(nympha coerulea). Around the lake’s border glistened the 
soft, slimy leaves of the silver-tree (Lcucodendron a^-gen- 
teum). The slender stream which bore the waters of th* 
lake to the far-off river was bordered by hedges of arbores- 
cent aloes, whose slim, spire-like flowers of red followed its 
course for miles. 

“ In a thicket a mile away to the south of the quiet lake a 
hunting party of foreigners were congregated, their horses 
secured to the low shrubbery, and their own forms stretched 
at ease in the shade, enjoying their meerschaum pipes, but 
carefully attentive to the occasional remarks one of their 
guides let fall from the top of a huge tree near at hand, where 
he was watching the plain with experienced eyes for a famil- 
iar signal. In the front of the entire group was Earle, 
standing beside his Arabian steed, and adjusting a strap 
which secured a robe of leopard-skins to his saddle. The 
horse was slight and elegantly limbed, but black as ebony. 
His fleetness had beeh tested on many an African ‘ Karoos.* 
His master was clothed in loose trowsers of dressed sheep- 
skin and a green velvet jacket with steel buttons. His hat 
was a broad Panama straw, and just below the top of the 
crown was wound with a veil of white muslin, giving it some- 
what the effect of a light-colored turban. He claimed that 
this gauzy material best protected the head from sunstroke, 
His l)elt was a green silk sash, holding two revolvers and a 
long hunting-knife. Hia doiible-baiTellcd rifle, carrying a 
half-ounce ball, rested in a notch of one of the low shrubs. 
He was a superb horseman, perhaps more dexterous than 
any in the party. 

“The Dutch 6oor, who was our guide, detected « whil9 
cloth waving from the thicket near the lake, and gave a shrill 
whistle from the tree-top. W'e tvero in our saildlcg in an In* 




Btftnt The signal wared from the tast side of the thicket 
had indicated that oiir game was between the lake and the 
river. Earle took command of the party who ere to guard 
the shores of tlie lake, along which the lion would, if worsted, 
be likel3’’ to escape into the westiern dills. The rest of us, 
four strong, under command of Lord Clyde, a famous Eng- 
lish sportsman, were to undertake the initial warfare between 
the lake and the river. A'.vay dashed each party to its des- 
tination, the blazing African sun flashing from the barrels of 
our rifles, and the gallant steeds as wild with excitement as 
ourselves. Skirting the occasional hedges of yellow mimosa, 
and dashing recklessly ami<l the lines of the silver-trees, we 
were upon the lion sooner than we had anticipated. With a 
mighty spring (at a horseman who did not oven see him m 
he sped by), which certainly covered forty feet of ground, he 
missed his mark and fell astern of the horse. He had made 
this leap from a thicket on our flank as we dashed ahead, 
and we had all passed him unharmed. He was evidently 
making for the lake, and in a few moments after we had 
wheeled we caught a glimpse of him skulking away behind a 
short row of trees in that direction. It was a fair rifle range, 
and we successively despatched four balls after the monarch 
of the desert. Every shot struck him ; two of them, evi- 
dently, only grazed his back. With a scream of agony and 
rage he turned upon us, and leaped several feet into the air. 
Onward he came with terrific bounds, lashing his tail, and 
exhibiting his glittering teeth. His huge mane was black, 
indicating a species the most ferocious and dangerous south 
of the great desert of Kalihari. We fired our revolvers al 
him as he bounded towards us, but the terror of our horses 
prevented accuracy of aim, and our balls missed entirely oi 
inflicted only flesh-wounds. We scattered then in every 
direction, spurring our steeds away to a place of safety to 
reload our rifles. The lion, having failed in his charge upon 
ns, paused and looked after us as if uncertain which one to 
pursue. Looking backward over my shoulder as I bounded 
along, I saw him with mane erect, his tail lashing his flanks, 
and his mouth open in a frightful roar of rage and defiance. 
In a few rods we had gone beyond his reach, and, wheeling 
about, paused to reload. He was trotting away towards the 
concealed party on the shore of the lake. Our party were 
rather widely separated by his terrific charge, but were nea? 
enough to observe each other’s motions in the tict of reload 


ITAXWlCe:. 


m 

ing. We shouted to each other in excitement and delight at 
the favorable opening of our sport, as we carefully charged 
our pieces preparatory to advancing to the assistance of oui 
concealed friends at the lake. His tawny majesty had dis- 
appeared in the thicket. Presently a thin cloud of smoke 
curled away from the dense top of a large tree, followed in- 
stantly by the sharp crack of a rifle, indicating that our con- 
cealed boor, who had waved the white signal, had mounted to 
a place of safety, and was coming in for his share of the 
sport. A terrific howl ensued, and then the frantic bounds 
of the beast crashing through the bushes were distinctly 
heard. He had been struck by another ball. Scarcely had 
his roar died away in the distance when Lord Clyde shouted 
to me, ‘ Look out behind you I ’ I wheeled on the instant, 
and beheld a lion in the act of springing from his crouching- 
place. This nobleman had seen him making for my rear. 
My horse saw the brute at the same instant, and plunged 
frantically backward, and the lion struck the ground close 
beside his flank. I fired my revolver at his head, and the 
eyes suddenly closed, and, with a convulsive movement of 
his body, he fell over in the agony of death. That shot 
saved me for another sight of my native land. Lord Clyde 
came spurring gallantly to my assistance, but he was too 
late. I was the sole victor in that field. As we gazed upon 
the lifeless foe, in exultation over our success, the report of 
several rifles brought us to our saddles again. The wounded 
lion had crossed the path of Earle’s party. We were in 
readiness for the pursuit and galloped away towards the 
lake. Upon reaching our friei^s we learned that Earle’s 
lifle had broken the fore leg of the lion, who had gone oflf 
limping and howling towards the cliff. We felt sure of him 
now, and, the guns being reloaded, our united forces com- 
menced beating the bushes to start him, for he had evidently 
skulked away to hide himself. Undoubtedly his cunning would 
cause him to lie motionless in the thickets, or cautiously to 
follow the protecting shadows of the aloes which followed 
the banks of the stream up to the spring under the cliff. 

“ Patiently and perseveringly we beat the bushes, skirted 
the lake, and commenced the gentle ascent towards the 
source. No lion was to be found. Unquestionably the 
wound inflicted by Earle in the leg had not been so serious. 
At length we reached the spring, issuing in crystal beauty 
from the rocks. We paused to slake our thirst, and then 




101 


examined the ground about us. Lofty as -he blended spires 
of many cathedrals rose the sharp crags above us. The bar- 
rier to our further progress was effectual. For miles up oml 
down spread the adamantine wall of rock. At this instrint 
the quick eyes of Earle espied far up on the side of the cliff 
the tail of the lion just disappearing in a cleft of the rock. 
It was no doubt his lair. He must have given a leap of 
twenty feet almost perpendicularly upward to reach it. We 
had tracked the flying monarch of the desert to his castle, but 
who among the representatives of the human family at the 
base of the cliff possessed the hardihood to undertake that as- 
cent 'to his silent presence ? Who, indeed, was safe in remain- 
ing even at the base of the crag where so suddenly he might fall 
upon any of us? We withdrew, prudently, for consultation, 
.^er the discussion of several plans to oust the wounded 
beast from his retreat, Earle declared that he had come there 
to stop the breath of that lion, and he did not intend to Jea\ e 
without doing it. ‘You have all killed your lion, at one 
time or another. Now I expect to win mine. I am going 
up that cliff to start him out. I think I can have a crack at 
him before he can spring. I believe I broke liis leg, as I 
told you, and, if I did, there cannot be much danger.* Re- 
monstrance was useless with a man of his determined will ; 
and in a minute he had divested himself of his jacket, and 
with a revolver in his teeth he walked away to the rocks 
and commenced to clamber up the side by the aid of twigs 
and crevices in the wall. We watched him with our rifles 
poised and ready to concentrate our fire upon whatever 
might issue from the lair. He reached the summit and 
slowly raised his eyes to peer over the rock. Tp our amaze- 
ment, he drew himself up to and over the lan^ng-place and 
disappeared. Instantly we heard the report of his revolver ; 
then a roar, rising in terrible distinctness over the plain ; 
then another shot, and all was still. In another moment he 
appeared, and called to us, exultingly, ‘ Fve shot a brace of 
them I * He disappeared, and in a few seconds more dragged 
to the edge and flung down to us the lamed lion and a lion- 
ess, both shot with unerring accuracy through the brain. 

“ When he had clambered down that cliff we dismounted, 
tied our horses, and, joining hands, danced around him, 
shouting, ‘Kobaoba I Kobaoba ! the monarch of the marshes, 
who fears neither man noi beast and chases the lion like s 
oat* ** 


102 


mutwioM.. 


The officer paused, amused at his listener's rapt attention 
Her eyes glowed with the far-off light of a reverie, and the 
moonbeams gave to her neck and shoulders the hue of mar- 
ble. She had scarcely moved in her seat. She was the im- 
personation of youthful ardor and romance spellbound ir 
the knowledge of strange and thrilling adventure. And yet, 
through all her flattering attention to his words, the con- 
sciousness that he was describing the man so repugnant to 
her never left her for an instant. Could one so intrepid as 
to win the applause of men bronzed in the hazards and hard- 
ships of every clime be guilty of midnight assassination, 
craftily luring his victim under the endearing title of friend 
to a place where no hand could succor, and where no eye 
could witness the secret stroke? The characters were incon- 
sistent. Courage stood high on the list of virtues she ascribed 
to ideal men, — true, earnest men, men whom she could 
esteem, honor, love. It was a shock to her current of thought 
to realize that villains were capable of manifesting the most 
brilliant qualities ; the heroism of the lion-slayer blended 
with the craft of the murderer I It was anomalous. There 
must be some mistake in her data, or ej?e idealism was 
shaken on its throne. Could there be any injustice in her 
imputation of crime to Montrose Earle ? Could any plausi- 
ble explanation separate him from an act evidently commit- 
ted in his private sanctum? Was not the note evidence that 
J. II. N. was lured there by Earle himself ? Was not the 
infant Violet, her godchild, unmistakably of the Earle blood, 
and left at her door by the victim who had secretly been ad- 
mitted at the adjoining house? Was it not the act of a fiend 
to suffer his brother and sister to starve when millions were 
flowing through his own hands ? Her perplexities were in- 
creasing upon her. He was brave to a fault. How magnifi- 
cently must have gleamed that fearless eye, raising itself to 
the level of the lion's lair I The heroism of her countrymen 
was typified in that hazardous ascent. Her suspicions of 
the man were faintly lulled, not dissipated. So surely does 
manly daring elevate its possessor in the eyes of woman ! 
More earnestly now would she study the life of this anoma- 
lous being. She must accept the acquaintance. She must 
know more of him, — this gentleman who owned friends and 
supporters among the gallant and the refined. 

With such reflections flitting through her brain, and such 
determination regarding the acquaintance proffered to her, 


WARWICK, 


10 $ 


file heard the heroic narrative to the end, and ihvn, at th# 
•ndden cessation of the oflacer’s eloquent tongue, said, ear 
nestly : — 

“ I am indebted to you for the most agreeable episode iu 
a ball I ever knew. I should be honored by a call from you^ 
during my sojourn in Newport. But the band has just com- 
menced a polka, and I have an engagement. Will you be 
kind enough to introduce Mr. Earle, the lion-slayer? I think 
I should like to know dll of that heroic party.’' 

“ Certainly,” was the response of the officer, as he gave 
her his arm and conducted her to the presence of the as- 
sembly, who were already whirling in that dance known in 
the sixteenth century as the lavolta^ and danced before 
Elizabeth by the gallant Essex and the fair lady Bridges, 
the star of the courtly circle. 

And still their feet an anapest do sound; 

An anapest is all their masio’s song, 

Whose first two feet are short, and third is long.” 

Like the many-colored leaves of the autumn whirled by 
the wind sped the light-footed dancers, now circling away 
in detached couples, and again gathering in their flight in 
confused masses and rustling against each other as they 
turned. Scarlet and blue silk from the looms of Avignon 
and Lyons, white velvets from Lisle, tulle robes from 
Brussels and Portugal, and flounces from Chantilly and 
Caen, blended and whirled- in the soft, misty haze of the 
gaslight. Diamonds and coronets, flower-wreaths and 
gems, blonde tresses and raven braids, advanced and re- 
treated in dazzling confusion, but guided and spellbound by 
the notes of the orchestra, swiftly and clearly urging the 
feet of the dancers. But ever and anon, amid the circling 
forms of the light-footed and eager, glided one, the quee^ 
of the revel, the white-robed and beautiful belle of the ball* 
room, whose easy footfall and unstudied gracefulness gave 
her the title of “ the brown-haired and elegant stranger.” Her 
white slipper, slender and graceful as the sandal of Rhodo* 
pis, peeped from her misty robe, swiftly and dreamily tin* 
ing the melody, poising and gliding and whirling in unison*. 
Bound in the misty light sped her slight figui’e with the 
lightness of Helena in the temple of Orthia. 

Suddenly the music ceased and the poetry of motion was 
over. As she withdrew from the dancing-floor, upon tht 


04 


fTASmCK, 


arm of her partner, Montrose Earle, who had been presented 
to her, according to her request, drew near and accosted 
her. 

“ If Miss Delano were crowned with laurel, instead of a 
single camellia, she would properly typify Terpsichore.” 

The language and tone were as unstudied and courtly as 
the utterances of Sidney or Bayard. The clear, blue eyes 
were gazing in respectful admiration into her own. The 
long, silken, brown beard gave him the impress and dignity 
of a savant, 

“ Is it a compliment to inform a lady that she resembles a 
nonentity, something that never existed and never can ex- 
ist ? ” was the response given in the softest of tones, and 
with the most superb nonchalance. His e^ms brightened, 
and a smile played about that flexible mouth before he 
answered, in the same unruffled voice ; — 

“ Those who are at a loss for a suitable earthly compar- 
ison are driven to create one.” 

Archly she glanced at him and said, “ The heavenly host 
are entities. It is one of the prerogatives of women to be 
compared to angels. Is not that comparison forcible 
enough?” 

Again that quiet smile, but masking this time a sting. 

“ Yes I woman has been entitled to that prerogative ever 
since the fall. From the moment she ruined him, man has 
called her angel.” 

Her eye dilated as she turned quickly to him. “ No I the 
praise and exaltation of woman dates from the hour she 
bore a God to redeem him. Since that event man has called 
her angel.” 

“ I am defeated. Miss Delano ; I throw up my hands in 
token of surrender. You dance like an angel.” 

“ Now I am satisfied, sir ; nothing short of celestial and 
orthodox adulation will I receive. Please never to compare 
me to those pagan muses again. Do you dance ? ” 

“ I do ; everything from the medicine dance of the Coman- 
ehes to the Spanish bolero; from the ‘ German' of Fifth 
Avenue to the ‘ Palicari ’ dances of an Albanian garrison. 
I have even followed the fleet conductress of the Grecian 
^Bomaxka* ” 

“ You are a traveller, then, Mr. Earle? ” 

** Yes, I have broiled in the sun of every land, and frozen 
in the air of every arctic region. I have slept under th^ 


WAHWICK. 




wxdmol tent of the Laplander, shot bears as tfiey rooted out 
truffles from the valleys of the Pyrenees, and squeezed 
myself for the night into an Amazonian toldo^ thatched with 
the leaves of the vihai. I have chased ‘ snow bears ’ up the 
Himalayas, and dined off locusts in a South African Icracd, 
I have killed snow-white egrets and scarlet flamingoes on the 
lagoons of Louisiana and captured the black-plumed ‘ secre- 
tary-bird’ of the African desert as he flew off with a black 
naja, or ‘ spitting-snake,’ in his beak.” 

“You must have collected a rare museum, no doubt, in 
your wanderings. I would give much to have a glimpse at 
its wonders.” 

“ Nothing would afford me greater pleasure. Miss Delano. 
I pride myself upon its rare completeness, and am only too 
proud to admit ladies to examine it. I have in New York 
many curiosities, which you can see at any time. But the 
great bulk of my stuffed birds and my living reptiles are at 
my country-seat on the Hudson. Whenever you happen to 
be in the vicinity of Tazzleton with your friends, inquire for 
my place ‘Silvicola,’ and I will give you all a traveller’s 
welcome.” 

How little dreamed the speaker of the invasion of his 
sanctum in the city, by his listener, and the odious com- 
ments there indulged in regarding his character and career I 
Like an avenging deity masked in beauty and shod in wool 
was the lovely woman beside him, weaving the toils for his 
destruction. Patiently was she waiting for the day when 
disguise should be flung aside, and, like the accusing prophet, 
she should stand forth and declare to him, “ Thou art the 
man.” His last words had already opened the door to his 
sanctum, to his country retreat, and to his confidence, for 
one who linked him with crime and stood as the self-con- 
stituted friend of the innocent and the suffering, watching 
for his mo'ment of weakness, of self-betrayal, of ruin. She 
delighted in every word he was speaking, in every power 
and influence her beauty and her graces were exerting over 
him. She could scarcely conceal her exultation as she 
replied i — 

“Are you, then, the hermit of ‘Silvicola’? Why, that 
place is near my own summer-house on the Hudson. It is 
two miles further down the river and on the opposite side. 
I heard that a singular man had purchased it, who was » 
physidan and a recluse, who never allowed a Yromm W 


IOC 


fTABWlCK. 


erobi its borders. Are you a physician, and hare you pur 
eha^ed ‘ Silvicola * ? ” 

“^1 have the honor, Miss Delano, to be a humble followet 
and votary of the great healer, Serapis. I have stood on 
the site of the ancient Canopus, where that divinity had a 
sanctuary famous for its wonderful cure of human maladies. 
I did not purchase ‘ Silvicola.^ It came to me as a part of 
the estates of my father. It was the old homestead. I 
simply changed the name, and christened it by the title you 
have heard. I do not think I am a singular man, according 
to your informant, though you are the first lady whom I 
have invited to cross my threshold. I have been annoyed 
at times by certain religious zealots, wearing the dress and 
having some of the manners belonging to ladies, who dis- 
turbed me in my studies and tormented me with solicitations 
to adopt one or the other of their religious systems. I am 
familiar with the distinctive tenets of more religions than 
they ever heard of. I have been and ever shall be an ear- 
nest inquirer after truth. I believe that I possess more 
editions of the Bible, rare and valuable, than any public or 
private library in America. Every Sunday I devote to a 
careful study of the Bibles, earnest, critical study, by the aid 
of commentators and my own investigations and travels. 
These women importuned me, exhorted me, lectured me, 
until I was obliged to close my doors upon them all. I am 
a student. I am entitled to quiet and scholarly retirement 
on my own domain. Hence, I suppose they style me hermit, 
perhaps even designate me as ^hoor* ^ pagan,* ^infidel,* 
Heaven knows what.” 

Miss Delano smiled and bowed to her partner, who resigned 
her to the physician, and went in pursuit of some other fair 
dancer. Then, seating herself, she said, “ Poor man, I can 
sympathize with you indeed. You are right — clear off the 
whole tribe of women. Few of them can appreciate you or 
comprehend your researches. But you amaze me by your 
statements. That is your summer home, then? Have you 
fine horses on the place ? ” 

How unlike a woman ! ” exclaimed the doctor. “ I took 
it for granted you would inquire if I had a female cook, or who 
made up my beds, or if I had any sisters or nieces to inherit 
my property after I had retired to the shades.” 

Miss Delano laughed. 

That kind of information interests me little. It would 




anteitain me about as much as to know who chases Cerberus 
with a broomstick, when he steals a beefsteak from the grid 
iron of Pluto.” 

“Well, then,” resumed her companion, “I will tell you 
about the horses. I have eight ; four of them are aristocrats, 
and four work-horses, or plebeians. One of the first is my 
Arabian, Muslama. He was the gift of a sheik. His eye 
looks empire ; nothing can beat him this side of the Atlan- 
tic.” 

The eyes of the lady beside him glowed like those of Agos- 
tina Zaragoz as she issued from the church of Nuestra Sen- 
ora del Pilar. 

“ There is one horse that can beat him.” 

The words came from her lips quick, distinct, and fiery, 
causing the blue eyes and heavy beard to turn in amazement. 
“ Ah ! what may the name of that presumptuous brute be ? ” 

“ Warwick I ” The name was uttered like an inspiration 
of prophecy. 

“And you know this horse?” 

“ He is mine.” 

The spirit of emulation was mounting rapidly to her eyes 
and flushing her cheek. “I will ride him myself, and beat 
your Muslama.” 

“ I never decline any challenge thrown to my favorite. 
He shall meet your Warwick, whenever and wherever you 
please.” 

“ To-morrow evening on the West road? ” 

“ Ay I to-morrow evening. A running race, of course I ” 

“ Certainly 1 ” was the instantaneous response. “ I would 
uikdertake no other. I will run you two miles.” 

The physician smiled. “ Remember,” he said, “ that you 
will compete with the wind of the desert.” 

She glanced at him haughtily. ‘ ‘ Don’t threaten W arwick.” 
As she turned away to accept an invitation to dance, she 
bowed. And thus they parted. 

“ What a glorious eye she has I ” thought the savant as he 
watched her receding figure. “ Such creatures when tamed 
by love are very gentle.” 

Miss Delano’s reflections at the same instant ran thus: 
“ How I will take the conceit out of that man to-morrow } 
Muslama, indeed I ” 


ifAMWtim. 




Cljaptet XU5. 

He is complete in feature, and in mind, 

With all good grace to grace a gentleman. 

Two GENTIiEKE3r Of YbRCIIA. 

When Miss Delano retired at a late hour from the ball to 
the summer cottage of her aunt, Mrs. Bristed, whom she was 
visiting, she found a letter lying upon her dressing-table, bear- 
ing a familiar handwriting. She reserved the reading of it, 
however, until her aunt, who had attended the ball, had with- 
drawn from her apartments for the night. That lady had 
mounted to her niece’s room, as usual, to discuss, in disha- 
bille, the events of tlie evening, and to aid in footing up the 
conquests made, and criticising the dresses worn. After ex- 
patiating upon the agreeable qualities of Lord Camochan, 
who had devoted himself assiduously to her after her niece 
left the ballroom with the naval officer, she remarked sud- 
denly : — 

“O May, I forgot to tell you something that occurred 
in conversation with him. He told me that his object in vis- 
iting America was a peculiar one. It appears that a young 
gentleman, who is the son of a marquis, and I think he said 
a cousin of his, had quarrelled with his father and left Eng- 
land. He was very high-spirited and went off without giv- 
ing his relatives any opportunity to conciliate him, and with- 
out even condescending to inform them where he was going. 
He was a young man of great promise, and has been gone 
ft’om England several years. His father has recently died, 
and all his great property, I don’t recollect how much, has 
been given to the son. But the young gentleman can’t be 
found. They don’t even know to what country he fled. Every 
effort so far, made to discover him, has proved a failure^ I 
suggested to Lord Carnochan that, inasmuch as every news- 
paper advertisement had failed to secure any tidings of him, 
't might be well to announce it in the churches. You know 
he has been so liberal to our church in the city that it might 
interest people to inquire about the matter. I told him you 
would write to your uncle to mention it before the congirw 
gatiqii.’* 

“ Certainly, aunt, what was the cousin’s name?’’ 


WAXWWK. 


m 

** Robert Melville,” was the reply. ‘ Lord Camochar 
expressed great affection for the young man, and said he hac 
presented him, just before he left, with a splendid watch, 
having a miniature of himself in one of the covers, an ele- 
gant fowling-piece, and various other articles ; and his cousin 
had not even acknowledged the receipt of them, but 
cleared off suddenly from the country.” 

“ I will mention it, aunt, to-morrow, when I write to 
uncle. Now, good-night, please, for I am vary much fa- 
tigued. There is no pleasure in dancing in such a hot 
room.” 

When Mrs. Bristed had gone, the young lady substituted 
a silk wrapper for her ball-dress, shook out her hair, and sat 
down to the reading of a long epistle, tr^ed in the most 
wonderfully minute handwriting. She w^as a picture, seated 
In her low chair, with dishevelled tresses, and the point of a 
tiny white slipper stealing out timidly under the hem of her 
blue silk robe. She had drawn near to her lamp to decipher 
the female hieroglyphics. They were interpreted thus : — 

“ Dear May : — I have endeavored to discharge my duties 
as proxy to the best of my ability. Your Sunday-school 
class has thinned out a little during the excessively warm 
weather ; and indeed I couldn’t blame the poor little things 
for not coming so far in the terrible heat. Little ‘ Shorty ’ 
is very constant in his attendance, and his teacher informs 
me that he is learning fast. In fact, the poor cripple has 
manifested extraordinary talent and ambition. But I have 
an idea that your incentive about the horse has stimulated 
the boy more than a simple appetite for mental food. I 
saw him, a few days ago, loitering about your deserted 
stables, and trying to peer in between the cracks of the door. 
He asked me when your horses were coming back. His 
thoughts have a decidedly equine tendency. His Bible teacher 
was reading to the class about the heavens being opened, 
and a white horse appearing, and when he had read the 
verse, • And the armies which were in heaven followed him 
upon white horses, clothed in fine linen, white and clean,' 
little ‘ Shorty ’ startled the class by exclaiming, ‘ I know a 
bay that’ll knock the spots out o’ all uv ’em. He’s got a 
white cover too, and there’s a D in the corner. His name's 
VTarwick, and he’s a snorter, I tell ye.’ 

' I am going to Suratoiza next week, as father k reatij 
10 


fTAMWIOE. 


ilD 

BOW to leave his business. I will join you at ‘ Sublimity,* 
just after you reach there. I engaged Miss Griffin to look 
after your class during your absence. She will have the two 
classes sit together, so that she can superintend both, and 
keep them in order. That poor old woman that you have sup- 
ported so long is dead. She instructed me to give you her 
blessing. Poor old creature! her gratitude brought the 
tears to my eyes. She was so demonstrative. 

“ You will be surprised at the latest on dit. That prince 
of gallants, Montgomery Sewall, is to marry Mary Bogart. 
Will you ever forget her appearance at the assembly ? Mr. 
Cochran called once, and devoted the entire call to a 
eulogium of my friend ‘ Miss D.' I do believe the man will 
go craz3^, when the last glimmering ghost of a hope has 
vanished. He found your album, and insisted upon writing 
in it. But I would not permit it. He then wrote these 
lines upon a sheet of note-paper, and laid them in the 
book.' — 

** * Remember me ! Oh, pass not thou my grave ^ - 
Without one thought whose relies there recline ! 

The only pang my bosom dare not brave 
Must be “ to find forgetfulness in thine.” * 

“ Poor fellow I he has gone out as Secretary of Legation to 
Vienna. 

“ Now, May, I am going to startle you with a romance 
in real life. You recollect how interested mother has been 
in Hester Lanly’s case. She has sent me to St. Luke’s three 
or four times to see her. Poor mother! you know how 
feeble she is herself, — ^o thin and pale that father medi- 
tates Yaking her to Germany for the waters. Well ! I took 
some little delicacies to St. Luke’s for Hester. You know 
how the poor old cook idolized all of our family. One after- 
noon, after I had been visiting her, I happened to meet, in 
one of the halls, Helen Blakely. You know what a cel- 
ebrated nurse she is. After conversing with her awhile, she 
told me of a very interesting patient under her charge 
She said he was so beautiful and so elegant that her heart 
was touched every time she put eyes on him. She was cer- 
tain he must be a gentleman, and she felt sure he had 
recently experienced some terrible revulsion of fortune. He 
appeared to be a very zealous member of our church { and 
ihe thought I ought to see him, as he had asked for books to 


fTARinCS, 


ill 

read, about which she knew nothing. He was .^nvalescent ; 
and she would, if I was willing, ask him for permission to 
introduce me. I accepted the invitation. You need not 
laugh, and think I went in because he was good-looking. I 
did not even think of that ; but I knew that gentlemen have 
requirements in sickness that ordinary people cannot under- 
stand. Refined people value ladies’ society and conversa- 
tion and sympathy when they are helpless, and so I went in. 

0 May I what a face I It was like a celestial dream ; so pure, 
so noble, and yet so sad, so earth-weary. Would that I could 
cause eternal animation to that blonde beauty I Would that 

1 were gifted with the power to wake at will the gleams of 
sunshine which danced in those eyes when a transitory emo- 
tion of pleasure and enthusiasm swept across them ! Would 
that I could charm away the cloud of melancholy which has 
become their daily heritage I May, I have shed tears at the 
mere memory of that lovely helplessness. You cannot even 
conceive that matchless beauty. And, when I tell you he 
was emaciated, pale, his silken brown hair shaved as closely 
as a prison convict’s, and his hands thin and white as snow, 
from sickness, and yet exhibiting their exquisite formation 
still, you can imagine what he was, what he will be when 
the results of his terrible fever have passed away, and he 
starts again to active life ; a poetic, enthusiastic marvel of 
loveliness and manly grace; a brilliant intellect and a 
spirit-like face, both refined as if daily touched by the wings 
of Ithuriel. 

“ A mystery attaches to this ideal beauty. Every one be- 
lieves he has not given his real name. He looks at times 
as if he might be proud as Lucifer. I am satisfied he is 
concealing everything of his real name and former circum- 
stances from us. Who do you think, of all persons, brought 
him to the hospital but that peculiar woman, Madame 
Benon. She heard of him in some way, and rescued him 
from a garret where he was dying of brain fever. He has a 
great bundle of manuscripts in his room, that came with 
him, and he is frantic to write and add to them ; but the doc- 
tor has positively forbidden it. He can sit up only an hour 
or two, and when he can get at a book he reads till he is 
dizzy. I took several books to him from our library, and 
you should have heard his comments upon the chapters I 
read to him. He criticises closely, but how magnificently he 
appreciates I and often adds something of his own as brillianl 


lit 


fFAMWlCX^ 


as tbe original. The doctor is fascinated with him. He haa 
read medicine and everything else, and the doctor says he is 
one of the most cultivated scholars he ever met. I heard 
the doctor tell him one day that he was certain now of his 
entire recovery if he would not study. With the sweetest 
smile I ever saw he reached forth his emaciated but beautiful 
hands to the physician, and with a rich, deep, melodious 
voice repeated the words of Hassan : — ^ 

“ ‘ Lord of the palace of life, — thou before whom the angel 
Azrael spreadeth his wings for flight, — thou, wiser than 
Solimaun Ben Daoud, upon whose signet was inscribed the 
Meal Name which controls the spirits of the elements, — 
forbid it. Heaven, that while thou travellest upon the track 
of benevolence, bearing healing and hope wherever thou 
comest, thine own course should be saddened for lack of the 
tale and of the song. Behold, while thy servant is at thy 
side, he will pour forth the treasures of his memory, as the 
fountain sendeth her stream beside the pathway, for the 
refreshment of him that walketh thereon.* 

“O Mayl such a grateful, exultant, touching music was 
in those tones that the doctor’s black eyes filled with tears. 
He is just the 'man a woman would follow to the ends of the 
earth. I never had the depths of sublimity and beauty in 
my organization so aroused as when I heard that mtirvel 
converse. He is in the flower of his manhood. Im«^^ine 
large blue eyes, brilliant and almost black in momeriis of 
enthusiasm, magnetic in their influence, irresistibly lauding 
you to share his convictions and his ardor. Then a soft, 
hazy brightness settles in them as he listens to ycri, and 
you feel that in that gaze he is really fathoming your sincer- 
ity) your true nature, and appreciating all the beauty and 
purity that exist in you. He impresses you with his truth- 
hilness, with his ardent and poetic temperament, with his 
unsullied honor. I would trust him without hesitation. I 
never yet came in contact with another man upon whom I 
could so blindly rely. I believe association with him would 
develop all the good in an unprincipled woman’s nature. 
He is ever appealing so quietly, so naturally, so gently, to 
the best and purest impulses of the human heart. As you 
study him, j^ou realize that his ardent impulses may lead 
him sometimes into error. He may fall, but oh, how lapid 
would be the resuscitation to his primitive life I His true 
md real nature is buoyant like a lif^-preaer/er ; pressed fol 


WAMWICm. 


\n 

instant by a heavy weight under the waters^ it springs ujy 
ward quickly to the surface and to a view of God's sun and 
stars. Evil cannot hold him under long. 

“ He has baffled every effort to trace his origin, to identil^ 
him with any family, to gain a clue to his past. I under 
stand that no friend has come to him in his misfortune 
except one. It was a lady, who solicited and obtained pri 
vate and confidential interviews with him several times 
She was very elegant in her manners, it is said, and he 
seemed to be very much attached to her, giving her manu- 
scripts to carry away with her, and apparently bearing some 
relationship to her. It was Suggested that she might be his 
wife. But I know she is not, for he informed me casually 
one day that he was not married, and his word bears to mo 
the impress of truth. There is an elegant hauteur about 
this gentleman that repels idle curiosity. There is a limit 
beyond which he is inaccessible. Do you know what a 
singular impression has taken firm hold of me ? It is that 
this stranger and your little godchild are very much alike. 
The resemblance in the eyes and mouth is particularly strik- 
ing. I wish you could see him. Do you wonder that I have 
devoted so much space to a poor invalid iij the hospital ? 
You will not if ever you see him ; that is, if I understand 
correctly j^our tastes. 

“ Do not let many days elapse before I hear from you. 
Direct after this week to me at Saratoga. Tell me about 
your pleasures and your beaux. You see that I have made 
a double request. The two are not always identical. Good- 
by, dear May. 

“ Your friend ever, 

“Carrie Demino. 

“ P. S. — Sister is having her blue silk made and trimmed 
with white cord, — gored, of course.” 

The letter dropped into her lap. She folded her hands 
over it, and sat for a long time in perplexed study. At 
,iast he was found. After all her patient watchfulness, all 
her inquiries, all her anxieties, which had brought no cl\!e to 
the mystery, he had been accidentally discovered in a Uos^ 
pital. There was no doubt in her mind of the identity. 
This poor, emaciated being conformed in every pai ^icular to 
the image her imagination had conjured up. The physical 
ftikl the intelleetusd parts alike corresponded with those of 
10 * 


iU 


WASWICK* 


ihe Ideal that had haunted her so long. The hand of hei 
charity had been stayed by the decrees of an all-wise God 
The proud heart had been humbled to the very dust. The 
sensitive nerves had been strained to their utmost. The 
generous heart had been almost crushed in the iron grasp of 
despair. And yet he lived. He was convalescent. The 
star of his destiny lifted once more above the huge waste 
of sable clouds. It was faint and dim. Still it was there, 
and it was a star. It was no ignis fatuus. He had gone 
down deep into the dark valley, but the angel of life had 
met him and turned him back. He had struggled and gasped 
in his agony. He had suffered shame and desertion. No 
one had stood by his cross save only a woman. No doubt 
that woman was his sister. Thank God ! he had a sister to 
cheer him, when all the gay companions of his life had fled, 
when the desolation came, and the painful choking at the 
throat. 

Why did she pity him thus? He was a stranger. Her 
eyes had never looked upon him. Ah I the human heart is 
not bounded in the range of its sympathies by the visible. 
As true and bitter tears have been shed at the story of 
Calvary by strangers as by those who stood at the foot of 
the cross. The human family is linked from pole to pole in 
the sympathies of the heart and the understanding. It is 
the pledge which binds the buried nations to the men of the 
present and the hereafter, this unity of the human race in 
heart and feeling. But there was a finer and more delicate 
explanation still, why this high-born and gently-nurtured 
girl turned so often to the contemplation and the pity of 
this fallen being, this prince of the social circle, who had 
been hurled from the heaven in which he moved, as low as 
Apollo from the Olympus of his father.- There runs through 
the intricate meshes of the human heart a current, subtile, 
defying analysis, and yet alive and active ever. In unex- 
pected moments, in the camp and the court, in the palace 
and the cottage, in the church and the ballroom, in every 
haunt of life, its influence is experienced. Instantaneous as 
the lightning flash it meets the secret current of another 
heart. No word may be spoken, and still on the instant 
springs to existence a sympathy, a confidence, a trust, which 
the storms of life may not beat away. Miles away in the 
distance a student pens simple words, and when the type and 
the press have given them to the world, a few hearts on!/ 




lU 

understand them, a few lips only murmur, “I know you 
though I have never seen you. At my side your life would 
ftow on with no discordant jar, for between your heart and 
mine, your tastes and mine, your idealism and mine, there 
is^ perfect harmony.” A young man. is a mystery in the 
midst of his family. They cannot comprehend his tastes, 
his current of thought, or his religious sympathies. To them 
he appears like a sceptic ; he appreciates not their religious 
convictions or their manner of expressing them. He lives a 
life apart by himself ; every word and every idea they utter 
seem to jar upon his nerves and give him pain. Soon an 
orator of the pulpit appears.upon the scene. A wonderful 
unction follows his discourses and every heart is touched. 
All acknowledge his purity, his earnestness, his power. 
And yet under every discourse, or threading it like a wavy 
line of fire, is a hidden meaning which none comprehend, 
ay, more, do not even see. And yet that line of fire has 
touched the heart of that young man, and its hidden mysteries 
have opened its avenues to truth. Between his soul and the 
soul of that orator is a sympathy so subtile that few can 
comprehend it ; and yet that sympathy can bind the hearts of 
preacher and hearer into a spiritual and a worldly friendship 
which no hand can sever and no will shake. For the good 
of that youthful soul the influence of that orator is all- 
potent. The same delicacy of thought,' of conception, of 
sympathy, binds the two forever. This mystery runs through 
every life, and its marvellous developments will never cease. 
The entrance of some persons into a drawing-room fills 
others there, who are strangers, with a nervous repugnance, 
an undefined uneasiness, v;hich no tongue can explain. The 
entrance of others, equally unknown, causes a congeniality 
of feeling and a sympathy equally mysterious. 

The sympathy of May Delano arose from the contempla- 
tion of a painting. The artist had faithfully sketched the 
features and the princely bust of Constant Earle. It was 
enough. In most women it would have aroused admiration. 
With her it did more. The cast of the features, the curve 
of the passionate and delicate lips, the misty, dreamy 
beauty of the glorious eyes, and the poetic symmetry of the 
forehead and every feature, truly and forcibly uttered their 
own mystic meaning to her heart. They spoke to her clear- 
ly and forever ; “ (Sod has niade his heart and his soul beau- 
ttfol IfGj^d iho inasB bf mm hearts and gifted soula. 


116 


wAmncK. 


Keejiiy as the steel of Damascus do beauty and knowledge 
fiasli to his brain and his heart. God shield him from the 
agony and the temptation which poverty entails upon the 
poet and the scholar I” 

She sat long communing with herself and with the silent 
night. Through the open window peered the sinking moon. 
It was near the dawn of a new day, and yet she could not 
sleep. With earnest, thoughtful natures a powerful reactioa 
follows the excitement of a brilliant entertainment. Eagerly 
and in response to some unnatural craving of their hearts such 
persons seek the haunts of frivolity or gayety, and wildly, 
recklessly, participate in their Babel of confusion and mirth. 
But, when all is over, when the lamps are quenched and the 
false brilliancy vanishes, when a mental analysis of the 
pleasures of the night is inevitably made, the heart finds itself 
weary, dissatisfied, and craving still. At such moments what 
would not the true woman give for one earnest, manly decla- 
ration of love, one sincere manifestation of that passion for 
which nature has so eminently qualified her, and in the enjoy- 
ment of wdiich only can her heart be satisfied I The world 
imagmed, from the persistency with which May Delano dis- 
carded all ofiers of marriage, from the quiet and uniform 
manner in which she converted all lovers into simple friends, 
that she was too aspiring to yield to the simple dictates of 
the heart, and sought an alliance in which her ambition alone 
would be gratified. And yet how unjust, how utterly un- 
founded was this conjecture ! She craved love in its simple, 
unselfish earnestness ; for it she would have sacrificed and 
suffered. When she took from her table the records of the 
past, and realized the intensity of that passion with which 
some hearts had been thrilled ; when she discovered that in 
t he furnace of suffering and despair love had been born, so 
[)ure, so elevating, so noble, that men had been baptized in- 
to a new life through its baptism of fire ; that in the agony of 
their yearning and their hopelessness they had dragged their 
bleeding hearts before the altars of God and entreated him to 
sanctify their Intolerable anguish to his honor and glory, — her 
eyes flamed with strange light, and with a frantic yearning 
to be thus loved, she had bowed her head in silence and soli- 
tude. Her passions were all strong, her idealism exalted far 
above that of inferior intellects, and she sought or hoped in 
the future for a noble idol, worthy of all devotion, and an- 
swering to this yearning madness In her heart. But so keea 


WAMmCK. 


117 


was her gift of insight that she read most men as she would 
Bead books, analytically, thoroughly. She detected, under 
the elegance and the guise of passion, the scheming heart 
and the crafty, persevering ambition which sought her beauty 
and her wealth. In every instance ha<i her judgment been 
justified by the result. In every instance had the baffled 
suitor sought other alliances, dictated by ambition and self* 
ishness. It was not such love the proud, flaming heart of 
May Delano craved. 

As she sat pensive and alone in her chamber, the words of 
her friend burned into her very soul : “A brilliant intellect 
and a spirit-like face, both refined as if daily touched by tho 
wings of Ithuriel.” Could this gifted being be selfish like the 
mass of his sex? She would have given all her wealth to 
know that his heart was untrammelled, his motives simple and 
pure, and his life Christian. How could she know this man ; 
how naturally gain his friendship and confidence and determine 
for herself these questions ? There was no love in her heart, 
only the craving to love and to be loved. Should she sit pass- 
ively down and trust to fate to bring her one she could love ; 
or should she seek an acquaintance with this gifted outcast, and 
with every other man of sense and feeling that might pass 
under her observation? There must be one somewhere in 
the broad earth who could love her really and truly, and for 
herself alone. How naturally and simply was this queen of 
f&tes and ballrooms debating these frequent questions which 
every woman addresses to her own heart I One would scarce- 
ly realize that a girl so courted and admired, combining tho 
beauty and elegance of Isabella with the decision of Beatriz 
de Bobadilla, conversing with the ease and polish of Lady 
Montague, and dancing with the sylphlike grace of Barbarina, 
could ever lack the worship of one true man. And yet ‘‘ the 
heart knoweth its own bitterness.*’ The idols of society are 
not often worshipped by the heart. The incense which floats 
through their temples is born of fashion, frivolity, and self- 
interest. And yet beneath the garlands which crown these 
Idols are scheming, aching brains, scheming to gain one 
precious draught of earnest love, to wring from the lips 
which flatter them that simple and sole ecstasy of life, “ I 
love you.” Too often are the wealthy “ banla’upts in friend- 
ship and beggars in love.” Could those who charged het 
wi& ambition have known that proud, imperial girl ; could 
they have gaaed into the secret purposes and longings of 


m 


WAMWICX* 


that burning heart, they would have found powers of endurand 
and sacrifice for the sake of love like those which drove the 
Princess Amelia to mutilate her eyes and beauty for a life- 
time. “ Now I will not wed the King of Denmark I now I 
shall never marry.” 

She sat long in her room planning how best to bring suc- 
cor to this struggling child of genius, how most appropriately 
to win the acquaintance of one who interested her so deeply 
and whose pride she hesitated to wound by any precipitate 
offer of assistance. No doubt the manuscripts mentioned by 
her friend were the pages of a future book, — a very natural 
expedient to earn bread on the part of an educated man 
turned destitute upon the world. How happy would be her 
fortune if he would allow her to advance the means for its 
publication ! The whole matter was involved in perplexity, 
and she turned it over in her mind, studying what properly 
as a single and youthful lady she might do, and what propriety 
forbade. The presentation to young and struggling men of 
talent of pecuniary assistance was no novelty to her. The 
brightest pages she turned over in the book of memory were 
those where stood the record of her charities. But now, un- 
accountably to herself, she experienced timidity, hesitation, 
and uncertainty of purpose. She could decide upon no defi- 
nite plan in regard to this stranger. At length she with- 
drew from the window as the moon dropped behind the west- 
ern horizon. Her purpose was formed to return to the city 
and have an interview with him. She would go in company 
with Carrie Doming to the hospital and make his acquaintance. 
That was to be the preliminary move of her plan of operations. 
Should her interview confirm the statements of her friend’s 
letter, then would she proceed to afford him secret encourage- 
ment and aid. Some pleasurable emotion was aroused by 
the consideration of some particulars of her plan, for when 
she had arisen from her knees, after her accustomed committal 
of herself to the guardianship of her God for the night, she 
laughed aloud. 

“ If I am successful, how Carrie will laugh 1 It will be a 
r61e unparalleled in history. Garrick wBl be eclipsed.” 
With these reflections she fell asleep. 


WASWIOK. 


Hi 


Chapter IIU. 

Wliat iwres not Warwick, if false Saffolk dare him. 

Einq Hbiibt VI. 

A SON of the Emerald Isle, hatless, coatless, with his bias 
cotton overalls secured tightly about his loins by means of 
a leather strap, with the sleeves of his check shirt rolled up 
above the elbows and exposing -the muscular proportions of 
his bronzed arms, stood with a sponge in his hand before a 
row of stalls. The stable was large and airy, and he was 
contemplating the work he had just completed. Two black 
steeds with glossy coats and drooping tails were quietly 
feeding from the manger. He had sponged them down after 
their exertions abroad in the hot summer air. 

“That’ll do for yer honors, the sicond-class gintry,” he 
exclaimed, after a brief survey of the carriage horses. 

Now for a turn with that wild divil yonder.” 

He flung away his bucketful of dirty water, and, replenish- 
ing the pail from a hydrant in the stable, entered a third 
stall with the exclamation, “ Stand around, ye divil, till I 
cool ye ofi*.” 

The equine tenant of the stall, at this command, cleared 
off to one side to give him space to enter. The groom, 
dropping the pail near the manger, proceeded to pat the 
horse on the neck soothingly, and to carry on a conversation 
with him. 

“ Ye’re a beauty, and ye know it, — don’t ye now?” 

The horse nodded assent. 

“ Proud as a pay cock of yer tail, — aint ye? ” 

The graceful head responded again in the affkmative. 

“ They can all bate ye travellin though.” 

The horse gave a decidedly negative shake to this deroga- 
tory assertion. Tlie Irishman laughed as he proceeded to 
001^ the sponge in the water. Then, before applying it to 
the sides of the horse, he indulged in further conversation. 

“ Ye throwed me, ye divil.” 

The silent aflSrmative nod instantly followed. 

Would ye do the like ag’in ? ” 

The horse shook his head. 

“ Give us a shake of yer flst thin, and Til fbrgiv© 


m 


wAsmcz* 


The steed lifted one of his slight forelegs and extended it 
in amity towards the groom. The Irishman gave the hoof a 
hearty shake, and then the limb fell back to its place. 

“ Faith, an I belave I could tache ye the intire catechism 
if they’d give me time.” 

The equine conversationalist, being so intimately con- 
nected with the Church of England, prudently remained 
silent. He declined theological controversy or instruction 
until the arrival of his mistress, the high-church Miss 
Delano. So he gave his head an upward toss, a kind of 
silent and haughty nHmporte. 

When the operation of a thorough cleaning and rubbing- 
down had been accomplished, the groom concluded to lead 
his “ Imperial Highness,” as he termed his charge, out from 
his retreat, and give the stall a thorough cleaning and a 
fresh carpet of straw. As the thorough-bred stalked out 
into the brighter light of the open stable to be secured to an 
iron ring in one of the upright timbers of the wall, the sun- 
beams revealed a glossy coat of a dark hue, inclining to a 
chestnut-brown. He belonged to the class of fleet steeds 
known on the turf as the “ English Hunter,” a strain of 
horses secured by blending with the best English stock the 
blood of the long-winded, light-footed, silken-coated Eastern 
courser. He bore evident marks of his aristocratic descent 
from the “Godolphin Arabian” stock, which furnishes the 
famous steeds for the St. Alban’s steeple-chase, or a run 
with the fox. The clear and wide jaws, the large nostrils, 
the broad, thin shoulders, the long thighs, the muscular and 
deep chest for the play of the lungs, the short back, the 
large and wide ribs, the clean bone and sinew, large and 
strong, the tail coming out high and stiff, the well-spread 
gaskins, and the hind-quarters lean and hard, — all attested 
the dash of that blood which gained the “ Derby ” for Sal- 
tram, Diomed, Spread Eagle, and Sir Harry, and won the 
“ St. Leger ” for Rowton, Margrave, and Barefoot. His 
whole bearing indicated strength without weight, indom- 
itable courage without false enthusiasm or fire to waste hia 
energies, and headlong speed without labor. But occasion- 
ally a light glimmered in his large, lustrous eye, which indi- 
cated mischief when he might bo pressed too rudely, or 
suggested the sudden development of unknown powers 
under an unusual strain. He manifested all the proud 
blood, strength, and executive force of the great baron ftn 


mAMWicst, 


m 


irhom he was named. Over the pavements of Fifth Avenue, 
the smooth “ McAdam” of Central Park, the dusty earth of 
Harlem Lane, or the mountain roads of her country-seat. 
“ Sublimity,” he had borne his mistress, proudly, swiftly, 
and surely. He knew her voice and obeyed it. He knew 
her footfall, and turned to receive the caress of his queen. 

As he stood there chained to the iron ring, in all his 
majestic beauty, and no doubt wondering at the long time 
consumed in the preparation of his stall, a female appeared 
at the door of the stable, and called earnestly for “ Mike ! 
Mikel” 

“ Why in the divil don’t ye come in, and not be standing 
there howlin’ for Mike ? ” was the respcmse. 

“ I’m afraid of the horse ; he’s just before the door,” re- 
plied the girl. 

“ Botheration to ye I do ye fare the horse will ate ye like 
a peck of oats ? Come in, ye fool ! He’s gintle as a lamb ; 
he’s the very sowl of gintility. He’s a rigilar gintlemin; 
come in, I tell ye.” 

Thus encouraged, the maid crowded in between the horse 
and the wall, and made for the stall. 

“ Miss Delano says she w^ants Warwick in the best of 
order by five o’clock this evening. She’s going out to 
ride.” 

“ And is that all ? Did that bring ye? ” was the curt re- 
sponse. 

“ No, that aint all. She wants you to go out with the 
horse on the West road till you come to the split elm; she 
said you would know the very tree.” 

“ Faith and I do, — the very identical elum, where that 
divil tossed me into the ditch and lamed me two nays for a 
week he did.” 

“ Well, she wants you to ride the horse from that elm on 
for two miles just as fast as he can go. She wants him to 
know the ground, and she wants you to put him to his speed, 
for she’s goin’ to ride with a gentleman that says he’s got 
the swiftest horse in this country.” 

“ A race, is it ! ” exclaimed the giX)om>, firing up in an 
Instant. “Be gorra, Warwick’ll surprise the sowl out of 
the man that attimpts that same. Is it racin’ wid me mis- 
tress he’d be ? There’s not the man a livin’ outside o’ the 
criild country as can bate Miss Dillano.” 

“ Wdl, that’s nll,"^ said the maid, and was tuniing to per- 
il 


wAJtmoE. 


m 

form a second time the feat of slipping past the horse, nhei 
the groom called her back. 

“ Who's the gintleman, and who's the horse ? ” 

“ I think the horse is named Muslama. I don't know the 
rider.” 

“ Mooshlama ! that bates me ould grandmoother I Fat a 
name to run agin a Christian gintleman, like Warwick I AU 
right ; till her I'll be there be the help o' God. It does me 
sowl good to haar the likes o’ that ; fot a batin' she'll gin 
him!” 

The afternoon sun was still glaring upon the fronts of the 
shops and dwellings on the eastern sides of the streets, as 
a horseman rode slowly out of Newport, taking a westerly 
direction. He reined his steed closely into the shadow flung 
upon the street by the line of buildings on the west, and 
rode easily along, with a straw hat shading his features, and 
occasionally smiling as his ear caught the exclamations of 
admiration and surprise elicitcKl by the wonderful beauty 
of his horse. It was a milk-white Arabian, with mane long 
atid rather scanty, and a silken sweep of tail that occasion- 
ally stirred the dust of the street. The ears were small and 
exquisitely pointed, giving him great expression. His 
shoulders, light and flat, sloped backwards, and his withers 
were fine and standing high. The loins were short and 
straight, and the flanks and ribs round and full. Hia 
haunches were strong and elastic. A connoisseur might 
have detected too great length of croinp. He exhibited 
thighs well turned and rounded. The tail was placed high, 
and the legs were clean and turned in i^erfect lightness and 
beauty. The feet appeared too small to satisfy the taste of 
an American jockey ; but then he was a courser of the 
sandy deserts. This satin-coated, thin-skinned, flint-footed 
pride of Arabia swept slowly and proudly along, occasion- 
ally arching his neck at the sounds on the street, or curvet- 
ing slightly at the glimpse of little ragamuffins running 
athwart his course. Ladies ran to the windows to catch a 
glimpse at this rare beauty, and one little girl shouted at an 
open window, “ .0 mamma 1 here's an angel's horssy.” 
The rider smiled at the compliment to his steed, and raised 
his hat to the child. Then, at a foreign word of command, 
the Arabian quickened his pace with the ease of an arrow 
sped from a bow. Gaining at length the open countiy be* 
yond th© towB) Ms quick ear caugiit another britsf word of 


125 


WJJtwior. 

ttccitation fiom the kps of his master, and he sprang forth 
with the suddenness of light, skimming the highway with 
che velocity and effortless sweep of a shooting-star, small 
puffs of light dust curving after the dainty touch of his 
hoofs, and pebbles flying from them with a faint click 
against the rails of the bordering fence. Onward and stih 
onward he flew, the rays of the sinking sun glistening across 
his satin coat of milk-white hue, and his eyes, so long famil 
iar with the unbroken view of desert plains, flaming onward 
in search of the bold rival who dared to dispute his supi em- 
acy on the surface of the spumed earth. Thus flashed the 
Moslem steeds of Blhaled upon the outnumbering ranks of 
Moseilma, the false prophet, trampling them to dust aud 
leaving ten thousand dead upon the field. 

The rider yielded a free rein to his favorite courser, and 
held his seat with the immobility of Saladin. He was 
dressed in a light suit of gray, which exhibited to the best 
advantage the short, compact symmetry of his frame, and 
the broad outlines of the shoulders and arms which had 
carried him safely through so many encounters with beast 
and savage. He possessed the cool judgment, quick eye, 
and world-wide experience that qualify men for success in 
action. No menace or entreaty could divert him from a 
purpose which his will had announced. He had frequently 
escaped the imputation of obstinacy merely from his wonder- 
ful success. He was of a serious turn of mind, which at 
times luanifested itself in the melancholy of his fine feat- 
ures. He seldom displayed buoyancy of temper, and en- 
thusiasm rarely clouded his judgment. His eye now roamed 
over the country ahead with the calm, clear, confident assur- 
ance of success. He had at once recognized the superiority 
of his competitor above the ordinary run of fashionable 
female society. Nevertheless it was not for an instant to be 
admitted that she could equal any qualities or attainments 
of first-class men. He fancied much pleasure would attend 
upon a well-directed effort to subdue her pride, intellectual 
and physical. His ability to triumph over the first was, to 
his mind, omnipotent. But, to subdue the latter, experience 
was required. Many important items of information were 
lacking. It was essential in the first instance to know upon 
what strain of horse she relied. He had, however, never 
been beaten in any brush upon the road, and there was littlf 


m 


ITAJSWZCK. 


likelihood that any girl living could on the beet of horsee 
even “ crowd'* Muslama, the invincible. 

One can Sr, anxiety, however, was suggested to him as 
he flew alo»^. It related to her ability to control her horse, 
when Muslaiuck should be in full flight. The influence of 
speed is contagious, and Warwick might undertake to run 
away with her. He quailed at the thought of injury to his 
fair rival. He was already deeply interested in her. But 
all apprehensions were soon lulled by the interest excited 
by the appearance of Miss Delano, whirling up in front of 
the split elm which had been selected for the tryst. It was 
evident at a glance that she rode with the confidence and 
ease of one familiar with the field. His experienced eye 
informed him, moreover, that her “mount” was one of the 
best saddle-horses ever backed. But, beside his “ wind of 
the desert,” what could a woman hope to accomplish, where 
gallant male riders had signally failed? Concealing his 
emotion of triumph at the easy victory his maturer experi- 
ence in horse-flesh informed him was in store for the Arabian, 
he reined in his courser beside her, and, gallantly raising his 
hat, said, “ You are the soul of punctuality ; pardon me for 
allowing you to precede me here. Your horse is magnifi- 
cent.” 

“ Of course he is,” was the proud response. “ I would 
ride no other.” 

Miss Delano wore a dark riding-habit, and a small straw 
cap with a dark plume. She could not restrain an expres- 
sion of admiration at the exquisite symmetry and grace of 
the Arabian. 

“ I recognize,” she said, “ the gifted denizen of the desert. 
It is the finest of that class of thorough-breds I ever saw. 
I am truly glad you brought out j^our best,'* 

The last sentence contained the faintest dip of satirical 
confidence. It annoyed the listener. She did not appear to 
be the least overawed by the manifest superiority of Mus- 
lama’s breed. “You’ve something yet to learn, my fine 
lady,” was his secret reflection. Then, as some faint curiosity 
to learn how familiar she might be with an animal that was 
his delight and constant study, influenced him, he inquired, 
“ How old is your horse. Miss Delano?” 

“ That is a matter upon which I am not clear, sir. If you 
have any means of informing mo correctly I should be 
^ankfiil to yon to let me know it. I know that he is more 


WAmnax, 


m 


Hum five, but how much more I cannot tell. The equine 
Authorities upon whom I rely for much are at loggerheads. 
Ho was my father’s favorite, and I would like to know all 
about him.” 

“ I am happy to be able to serve you, even in so trifling a 
matter, Miss Delano. Is that your servant yonder? ” 

“It is; — shall I call him?” 

Montrose Earle signified his assent, and when Mike 
bounded up to them on one of the raven-colored carriage 
horses, he directed him to take the bridle of the Arabian 
until his mistress could be assisted to dismount. The 
young lady, detecting his purpose, said quickly in her unan- 
swerable tone of authority : — 

“ No, thank you ; I prefer to attend to ray own dismount- 
ing myself.” 

Sooner would she have presented that man with her 
steed than have descended into his arms in alighting. Her 
purpose in seeking his society was purely to re-establish the 
right upon its throne ; not to enter into that familiarity 
which permitted touch. She instantly reined her horse up 
to the belt of open grass beside the fence, and, disengaging 
her stirrup foot, turned squarely in her saddle and sprang 
lightly to the ground. With the bridle over her arm she 
awaited the movements of her companion. He looked an- 
noyed at her refusal of assistance, but, handing the bridle of 
Muslama to the groom, he went to her side and said i — 

“ Now give me your bridle and I will show you how to 
tell the age of a horse.” She relinquished it to him, and he 
immediately anbuckled it, and secured the horse to the 
fence. 

“ In the first place, there are six nippers or cutting teeth 
in front which anatomists call incisors; there is a tush on 
each side; and there are, also the molars or grinding teeth. 
These nippers are covered with an exceedingly hard enamel. 
This enamel not only covers that part of the teeth which 
rises above the gums, but passes over the top of the tooth, 
bending inward and making a little pit or hollow. The in- 
side and bottom of this hollow becomes blackened by the 
animal’s food. This blackness is denominated the mark of 
the teeth. This mark, by the wearing down of the edge of 
the tooth, gradually disappears and gauges the age of the 
hmrse. Now let me show you the teeth of your horse.** 
He grasp«»d the jaws of Warwick and wrenched them open 


^tJLMWtVSC. 


m 

Then, after a brief examination of them, he pronotmofcd tli« 
age to be six years. 

“ You see the mark on the central nippers is worn out • 
the elevated enamel edges of the teeth have been worn away 
and that same wearing away has carried off the black holes 
In the centre of the teeth ; that is to say, the mark. In a colt the 
mark is long and narrow, but gradually grows shorter, wider, 
and fainter. His nippers, which at first have a cutting sur- 
face, in time wear to a level. When he is a year and a half 
old, his incisors will be fiat. At two years of age a fifth 
grinder will appear. And so for each year there are mani- 
ifestatipns in the wear of the mark on the nippers, the devel- 
opment and rounding off of the tush, and the changes in the 
corner teeth. Your horse is six, and consequently has what 
is termed a perfect mouth. The teeth are all produced, fully 
grown, and have not been injured materially ; the tush has 
attained its full growth, an inch, and the end of it is a little 
curved. His third grinder is up, and the grinders are all 
level. If Warwick was seven, not only would the mark in 
the central nippers be worn out, but it would be wearing 
away also very fast in the corner teeth, which you see it is 
not with him ; the tush would also be rounded at the point, 
at the edges, without and partly within also. If he was 
eight years old, the tush would be rounder in every way, 
and the mark would be gone from all the bottom nippera 
After eight years, jockeys look to the nippers in the upper 
jaw, which retain the mark longer than those in the lower 
jaw. Do I make it intelligible to you? ” 

“ Perfectly,” exclaimed tiie young lady, who had taken 
every glimpse into her horse’s mouth that his restiveness 
would allow. “ You are a wonderful man, certainly.” 

“ Not at all. Miss Delano. These signs are known by 
every genuine horseman in the land. Efforts have been 
made to deceive on the part of the jockey by what is called 
‘ bishoping.’ That was the name of the inventor, — Bishop. 
He cut with an engraver’s tool holes in the teeth, and then 
burned them with a hot iron to blacken them. But no 
thorough student of a horse can be deceived. They never 
can imitate the irregular look of the cavity, the stain around 
the tushes, and such signs well known to the expert. Are 
you satisfied with my rude explanation? ” 

‘‘ I understand it sufficiently, and now realize the meaning 
of the proverb, ‘ Never look a gift horse in the mouth? 


WAEWICK. 


127 


I am much obliged to you indeed. Shall we have that run 
now?” 

“ Certainly, if you still fancy your English horse can com^ 
pete with my monarch of the desert. You probably were 
not aware that I obtained my courser in the nursery for the 
whole world of fleet horses.” 

“ What will you give me if I beat him? ” she asked, glano 
ing archly at him. 

“ His own beautiful self,” was the fearless response. 

“ That is a prize worth contending for,” she exclaimed in 
glee. “ Mr. Earle, Muslama is mine.” 

“Never!” was the calm reply. Then he added, “But I 
ought to claim some guerdon if I win. Make me an ofier.” 

“ My glove,” -was the dignifled response, given with the 
condescension of an empress. 

“By Jove!” exclaimed Earle, “Muslama will fly as he 
never flew before. Miss Delano.” 

“If you win, you shall have my glove. But win you 
never will.” 

She took the bridle from his hand, as he detached it from 
the fence, and at the conclusion of her sentence led her 
horse close to the rails, and mounted by their assistance to 
her saddle again. Adjusting her riding-habit and securing 
a firm seat, she turned out into the highway, saying : — 

“Now I am ready for you. Shall Mike give the sig- 
nal?” 

“ Yes. Go ahead there a hundred yards, and wave your 
hat when you think we are ready.” 

The Irishman rode off in glee, and Earle sprang to his 
saddle. 

“ What is to be our reaching-post. Miss Delano ? ” 

“ The sign-post in front of the ‘ Traveller’s Home.’ You 
know the spot?” 

“ I do ; now I am ready.” 

The Arabian stood motionless as marble, in the highway, 
but the “hunter” was uneasy. His mistress soon reduced 
him to comparative quiet. The hat waved, and they were 
off! 

As they flew past the groom, neck and neck, he jammed 
his hat upon his head and spurred on after them, muttering, 
“ The pagin beast travels like the divil. But wait fur the 
last mile, and ye’ll see Mike Delaney appinted groom of 
that pagiu white bird. Hooral hooral 111 bet me sowl 


128 


fTAJimcM:, 


on Warwick. Hoora ! Slices ahead on the rise alridy, anfi 
now they’re vanished. Bad luck till the hill that spiles me 
view.” The son of Erin was right. Warwick led to the crest 
of the gentle hill, and then both vanished behind it in a 
cloud of dust. 

Down the gentle slope, like the sweep of the wind, flew the 
gallant steeds. Skilled in horsemanship from his earliest 
youth, Montrose Earle had encountered his equal at last. For 
the fixst half mile Warwick led by a length, and with appar- 
ent ease. Onward and swifter sped the thorough-breds, their 
hoofs rumbling together over a little bridge which spanned a 
stream, and then all sound was lost in the sand of the high- 
way. But when Miss Delano had gained a mile of the dis- 
tance she saw a white head and neck pushing ahead beside 
her. Clutching her reins with a firmer grip, and compressing 
her lips in resolution, she fiew on. One brief word of en* 
couragement escaped her, and gave Warwick a fresh impulse 
for flight. The white neck disappeared, and then the white 
head dropped behind her. The movement of the Arabian was 
beautiful. No convulsive effort, no apparent strain of his 
energies, but one even, continuous gliding motion, like the 
sweep of a bird through tho air. Closely and steadily he 
clung to the flank of the “ hunter,” spurning the sand behind 
him, and bearing his calm rider onward with the assuranee 
of destiny. Montrose Earle noticed the convulsive spring 
of Warwick, when his mistress ejaculated the word of en- 
couragement, and a smile crossed his features. He felt con- 
fident then of his success. Muslama squandered no power 
in convulsive efibrts, but held steadily on. 

A mile and a half had flown backward beneath their 
hoofs, and the outlines of the “ Traveller’s Home ” loomed 
up ahead. Muslama pushed on inch by inch until his head 
was again visible by the mistress of the bay. Onward they 
flew, till the white, graceful neck passed up beside the neck 
of Warwick. They were even now, for the first time since 
the start, and the blood of both was up. With wonderful 
unanimity of powers they rushed onward, side by side, neck 
by neck, and head by head. No advantage was gained, no 
false step made, no rider discouraged for an instant. The 
goal was approaching, and the will of each competitor sprang 
to the . eyes in a flash of confidence. A hoarse, impetuous 
word of command broke from Earle, and the Arabian shot 
fthead ft length, a length and a half, and dashed madly on 


WAsmm. 


123 


The color deepened in the cheek of Miss Delano. Her eyea 
dilated in the brilliancy of excitement, and the words burst 
fVom her, “iVbw, Warwick!” At that command the head 
of her favorite gave a dozen convulsive plunges through the 
air, his hoofs rattled beside the flank of the Arabian, he 
glided for an instant beside him, his head shot past the 
breath of the courser’s nostrils, his tail swept the white fore- 
leg in passing, he left the astonished Earle behind, and with 
fearful leaps spurned the earth, whirling a dense cloud of 
dust into the air, which soon enveloped him, and in which 
his magnificent onward sweep was lost to view. Through a 
blinding whirl of dust the steed of Earle darted past the 
reaching-post, the loser of .the race by full three lengths. 
His astonished ear caught the announcement from the piaz- 
za of the hotel ; “ By Jupiter 1 the girl has it I the girl has 
itr 


CIrapter XF. 

Go ask his name. If he be married, 

My grave is like to be my wedding bed, 

Eohko and JuLm. 


May Delano stood on the front steps of her uncle’s resi- 
dence in the city. She had spread her parasol against the 
morning sun, and was awaiting the coming of her uncle, who 
had gone back into his study for letters which he had forgot- 
ten. She was robed in white, with black belt and neck-rib- 
bon. As her eyes roved up and down “ the avenue,” she 
saw a stranger approaching, whose fine figure and firm, 
manly tread at once attracted her admiration. He was tall 
and elegantly limbed, and moved with the ease and precisioi 
of Lamoral, Prince of Gavre. As he drew nearer, she observed 
that he was very fair, and that a mustache curled av • 
from his lip. He had the chivalrous bearing and imposing 
exterior of an officer of cavalry ; such a figure as she had 
often encountered among gentlemen of that branch of the 
service. So imposing and attractive was the style of the 
pedestrian, that she stole from under the rim of her strayp 
a fliU view of his countenance, as ho passed her 


190 


WARWICK, 


door, without attracting his notice. She discovered in that 
glimpse that he was deadly pale but radiantly beautiful, with 
eloquent eyes, and genius stamped unmistakably upon hia 
features. A thrill of admiration and surprise held her spell- 
bound. She looked eagerly after him, until his superb figure 
turned a corner and was gone. The ideal mens sana in 
corpore sano had vanished from her sight. It was Constant 
Earle. The one full, clear view of his face in passing had 
instantly revived the memory of the portrait. She recog- 
nized the resemblance instantly, and the real image of the 
disowned was indelibly photographed upon her brain. The 
half had not been told her. The portrait had not fiattered 
him. The language of her friend’s letter had been tame. 
The fearful fever had left him terribly pale, but had spiritual- 
ized his beauty. In the broad glare of the summer sun the 
dream of beauty had passed by. Was it not a dream? She 
turned to reassure herself of her consciousness. It was no 
dream. There stood the ancient house of the Earle fam- 
ily. Here was the home of her uncle. In a moment more 
the Reverend Thomas Delano would appear to accompany 
her. Where ? To a hospital, for the relief of an invalid, an 
outcast, almost a beggar. Why did she not rush up the 
steps and hasten the tardy feet of the clergyman ? The ob- 
ject of her intended charity had just passed. He was gone. 
He might be overtaken. Why did she stand so immovable, 
so bewildered? The opportunity of serving him might be 
passing away forever. Where was he going? There she 
stood, propounding these mental interrogatories, until the 
subject of them had vanished, and she could not move. She 
was paralyzed by his beauty, his elegance, his aristocratic, 
princely bearing, which no poverty could eradicate and no 
misfortune bend. The blood of the racer is refined and his 
beauty intensified from his lineage ; the acumen and power 
of the scholar is traced as a rule to the same source ; the 
finesse and comprehensiveness of the statesman’s intellect 
and the manners of the gentleman follow the same law, and 
the judgment of the broad world sanctions the belief. The 
race of statesrnen and scholars often, by the infusion of 
blood from an inferior class, gains qualities of force and will 
which have been weakened, and thereby is the stock improved. 
The Anglo-Saxon steed, by the importations of Roger 
de Belseme from Spain, received those splendid qualities 
which secured the victory on the battle-field of Hastings. 


JTARWICS, 


lai 


The Barb of that peninsula gave to the heavy and laggard 
steeds of England their supremacy. The blood and cultiva- 
tion of his ancestors gave to Constant Earle the external 
graces and finish of his person. With him intellect was he- 
reditary too, and upon him depended the problem whether 
that intellect should be frittered away in idleness and sin, or 
should mount beyond the attainments of his fellows and viii' 
dicate the claims of his class. 

These were the reflections of the orphan, as she gazed 
after him, and recognized the elegance and refinement of 
manner which had been his birthright. How instantaneously 
with the realization of his style came the apprehension of 
wounding him by the offer of assistance I Ills pride would 
be galled by the mere idea of such an advance being made 
to him by a woman. She was enabled to ask counsel by the 
reappearance of her uncle. 

“ He' has just gone by,” was her exclamation. « It is no 
use for us to go to the hospital now. I shrank ftom speak- 
ing to him.” 

“ Is it possible ? Did you know him ? ” 

“ Only from his resemblance to the portrait. I have no 
doubt of it. He answered perfectly to Carriers description 
too. O uncle, he is superb! He recalled to my mind 
Milton’s description of Adam : — 

** *For oontemplAtion ho and ralor formed, 

His tair largo front and ejo onblime declared 
Abdolate mlo.’ ” 

The clergyman smiled at her earnestness. “ One would 
think you were eulogbring a lover. May, rather than describ- 
Cng a stranger from the hospital, with whom you have never 
spoken.” 

“ No,” she replied, with a laugh, “ it is honest admiration, 
inbiased and spontaneous. You should have seen him. 
But what shall we do now?” 

“ Continue on to St. Luke’s, of course,” was the response. 

That is the only place we can hope to gain any knowledge 
of him or his whereabouts. But how was he dressed? — com- 
fortably, neatly ? ” 

“ That is the strangest part of all. His figure and walk 
were so striking that I never remarked his dress until he had 
passed. Then I saw that his garments were fearfully plain 
Mid worn, but he had such a cleanly appearance that one 


WAMmCK. 


m 

— oiil ’ ' w be a gentleman. Come, let us go on, for 1 

S to attend to before I leave town.” 

oceeded on up the avenue in an opposite direction, 
from tne one Constant Earle had taken, and the young lady 
entertained her uncle, as they walked, by an account of hot 
acquaintance with the elder brother, and the circumstances 
attending the transfer of Muslama to her own stables. The 
clergyman listened to the recital, and then shook his head 
dubiously. 

“ I question,” he said, “ the propriety of your allowing 
that man to follow up the acquaintance with you. From 
your own description of his character I fear he is a powerful 
and crafty intellect, and, though his social position is unex- 
ceptionable, you may receive detriment from the tongues of 
otWs by an association with him, when, as j^ou say your- 
self, you are shocked at the idea of yielding him any of that 
encouragement which the association of a young lady with an 
unmarriei^^biitleman presupposes. I appreciate your mo- 
tives, and ^hare your suspicions to a certain extent. But, my 
dear niece, be careful. Society is a cruel and stern watcher, 
and we must avoid even the appearance of evil. I would 
not, for the world, have society know that he gave you that 
horse.” 

“ If society had seen the expression of his eye when Mike 
seized the rein of Muslama and led him off to aunt’s stable, 
society would hardly have pronounced it a gift, uncle.” 

“ Was he much excited, May ? ” 

“ Not at all ; he has the coolness and self-command in mis- 
fortune of La Vallette. I could only detect his annoyance 
in the gleam of his eye. His words were courteous, when 
I knew his heart was furious. He relinquished his beautiful 
Arabian to me with these words : ‘ It is an honor to be de- 
feated by so lovely and accomplished a lady.’ That makes 
me fear him. A man so thoroughly master of his passions 
under defeat is likely to be even with one some day. But he 
is very intellectual, uncle ; he has the culture and versatile 
genius of Misitheus, and his travel^, and explorations have 
secured him a collection of medals worthy a compartment in 
the cabinet of M. Eckhel. You recollect how intensely inter- 
esting to me was that fine collection during our stay in 
Vienna.” 

Certainly I do. But what do you glean from this man 
regarding his religious convictions? That is often a key 


WARWICK. 


1S8 


a man's real character. I cannot divCfei Viiyself of the pr€}u- 
dice, liberal or illiberal, that the men who recognize an over- 
ruling God, cognizant of every human action, and rewarding 
the good with the same persistency with which he punishes 
the evil, are the men alone to be trusted in the affairs of life. 
My trust in human nature is not bounded by the limits of 
the Christian nations. Other people believe in God and rec- 
ognize his judgments. But unless a man acknowledge the 
Supreme Being I cannot trust him. It seems to be an inhe- 
rent principle of my organization so to believe and so to limit 
my confidence.” 

“ I know this of Mr. Earle, uncle : his mother was a de- 
voted member of our church. Carrie informs me that Con- 
stant Earle is also a member. I know nothing regarding 
Mr. Earle's religious faith, except that he expressed to me 
his belief in one true God, possessing, as I understood him, 
the same attributes that we associate with the Divinity.” 

“ That is decidedly in his favor,” exclaimed the clergy- 
man, e^ddently mollified by her reply. 

“ I know, moreover, that he studies theology, analytically 
and fairly. But one who penetrates the secret mysteries of 
all the religions of the globe will inevitably discover frag- 
ments of truth, great and holy counsels, and admirable rules 
of life in many of them. Mr. Earle gave me this item of 
his research which was new to me. The ancient Egyptians, 
according to his investigations, held a doctrine similar to oui 
doctrine of the atonement. Osiris appeared on earth for the 
salvation of man ; was overcome by death, or the evil princi- 
ple, Typho ; rose from the dead, ascended into heaven, and 
then became the judge of men after death. He was the 
greatest of the Egyptian deities, and his career was strangely 
analogous to that of Christ, of our revelation.” 

“ I am aware of that belief of antiquity. May, and that his 
sepulchre was held in veneration with an ardor and fascina- 
tion like that which haunts the sacred places of Palestine. 
It was stated to be on the island of Phil©, and there can b« 
seen the ruins of their temple in the Ptolemaic style of archi- 
tecture. Savans conjecture that the Egyi)tians knew of the 
Jewish expectations of the coming of our Saviour, and 
adopted that incarnation of the Deity as a mystery of their 
religion. Others main.ain that this belief was a spontaneous 
growth of the Egyptian intellect. I should like to form the 
acquaintance of this gentleman myself. Learniag will ever 


WAJtWICM, 


m 

gain my resjM^ jiid nThile, by an acquaintance with him, 1 
may obtain posi?ession of historical information which mj 
duties will not permit me to trace out, I may at the same 
time solve religious difficulties for him. I may aid you, also, 
in your purpose. But be careful. May, regarding a marked 
intimacy with him.” 

“ I will never have intercourse with him, uncle, 'except in 
the presence of others.” 

“ That will do very well. May. Don’t we turn down this 
street?” 

“ Yes. We have to pass that row of new buildings, and 
then turn into those open lots. I am sorry I did not send 
for a hack, it is so warm. It is a nuisance having one’s 
horses in the country, sometimes.” 

The two moved on slowly towards the scattered tenements 
of the poor, which had been erected as temporary habitations 
on the new streets cut through the solid rock by speculators, 
who anticipated in a few years to behold palatial residences 
covering the entire space northward to the boundaries of the 
Central Park. After traversing several partially finished 
rows of brick and brown-stone residences, and penetrating 
several dirty lanes leading past the shanties of the poor, 
they reached a one-story tenement perched upon the summit 
of a rock covering about an acre of ground, and destined 
some day to be the site of an elegant block of houses. The 
straight line of the new street leading into Fifth Avenue had 
cut away the rock before the very door of this tenement, and 
there stood the shanty perched upon the edge of this arti- 
ficial cliflT, with the doorsill not more than three feet from the 
edge. One careless step in leaving the door of the tenement 
would precipitate the unlucky pedestrian down upon the new 
street below, a distance of some fifteen feet. There had the 
unfortunate “ Shorty ” fallen one dark night, and fi actured 
his leg. It had been amputated above the ankle. The mis- 
sion of Miss Delano and her uncle at this time was in behalf 
of the little cripple. Circling about the rock by a tortuous 
and narrow path, they slowly ascended towards the shanty, 
and approached it finally in the rear. Turning the cor- 
ner of the house, they stood upon the narrow plateau before 
the door, and rapped upon the whitewashed panel of the en- 
trance. A pig, that was enjoying a promenade upon the sum- 
mit of the rocky lot, had followed them around the comer of 
ihe house, and stood for an instant with his snout elevated 


UMWICX. 


181 


towards tkem, and evidently snuffing the qiialiiv of thi 
strangers. This brief inspection did not please liis porcine 
majesty, for, giving an emphatic snort, he reversed lii?, course 
and trotted away around the corner. At this instant the door 
was opened by a girl in a, calico dress, with dark eyes and 
hair, who. might have seen sixteen winters of poverty and 
privation. She had a face wonderfully prepossessing for one 
in her situation, and the tidiness with which her coal-black 
hair was arranged and the cleanliness of her simple attire 
attested that no poverty or misfortune could eradicate from 
her recollection the scriptural injunction regarding decency 
and order. She recognized Miss Delano, and, with evident 
embarrassment, invited the two to enter.' She gave them 
two rude chairs, the only seats in the house, and then pass- 
ing quickly across the floor closed the door of a tiny bedroom. 
Miss Delano saw at a glimpse that the bed was occupied, but 
her attention was immediately engrossed by a boy lying un- 
der the window, with his elbows resting on the floor as a base 
of support for his cheeks. He was intently occupied in the 
perusal of a book lying open upon the floor before him. The 
palms of his hands were pressed over his ears, so that he did 
not observe the entrance of the new-comers. 

“ ‘ Shorty,* get up ! here is Miss Delano ! ** 

The command of his sister was unheeded. He read on. 
The girl passed across the room and shook him. He turned 
and ejaculated, impatiently, “ What do you want? ** At that 
instant he saw the strangers, and scrambled up by the aid of 
the wall. He snatched his crutch from a hook in the win- 
dow-frame, and hobbled across to the side of the visitors. 

“ I hear you have been a very good boy and followed out 
all my wishes,’* said the young lady, pleasantly. Shorty” 
grinned in combined pleasure and embarrassment, but re- 
mained silent. Miss Delano continued : — 

“ I have determined to give you employment, as I prom- 
ised you, about my stable.” 

The eyes of “Shorty” sparkled with joy. “I’ll work 
ever so hard ; indeed I will. This leg aint no ’count to hurt 
my workin.’ I kin sweep and everything. W’en’ll I cum, 
Miss Delano ? ” 

The young lady opened her purse and handed several 
aank-notes to the boy’s sister. 

“ I wish you to purchase ‘ Shorty * some new strong 
clothes and a cap, and have him ready by next week. I will 


1S6 


WARWICK. 


»end my sen^ant down to the city for him. I am going ta 
have him with me in the country, and I intend to keep hiiB 
occupied about my stables there. I will bring him back to 
the city upon my return in the fail.’’ 

“ The country ! ” ejaculated the cripple ; “ oh, how nice ! 
I never seed the country.” The boy leaned upon his crutch 
a moment in bewilderment, and glanced from face to face to 
reassure himself that the matter was serious. Then, as the 
full realization of what was in store for him sw^ept like an 
ayalanche of delight upon his brain, his lip quivered and a 
tear glistened in the dark brilliancy of his eye. It was too 
much for the little fellow. The country, the bright, beauti- 
ful country that the boys had told him of, with its forests 
and trout brooks, its birds of every color darting through 
the trees, its long stretches of green meadows, its chestnut 
and hickory limbs w'here gray squirrels whisked their bushy 
tails as they leaped from tree to tree, the bees culling honey 
from flowers of everj^ hue, and the song of the reapers as 
they wandered through the golden grain, the red and yellow 
apples thumping to the ground as nimble feet stamped upon 
the branches, and the rattle of chestnuts and walnuts as they 
fell upon the crisp leaves of the autumn, — all passed before 
the eye of the crippled boy grown pale and haggard in the 
heats and stenches of a gi*eat city from his infancy. It had 
been his dream of fairy-land. Eagerly had he treasured up 
every word of description given by the little urchins of the 
beggar fraternity who had drifted from time to time from 
the country into town. And now that he was learning so 
rapidly to read, every book seemed replete with pictures and 
scenes of country life. He could hardly realize that his cup 
of joy was soon to be so full. He contrived to stammer out 
his thanks, and then stood poised upon his crutch studying 
the face of the beautiful lady, — the angel who had come so 
unexpectedly to open for him the gate of Paradise. He 
hobbled after her to the door, and watched her descend with 
her companion the shelving rock to the street. And, long 
after her white dress and gi'aceful figure had vanished in the 
distance, he stood bareheaded in the sunlight with his fin- 
gers clutched firmly to his crutch, peering after her, anq 
whispering through his tears which came convulsively, 
The country I the country I Oh, I’m goin’ to the country S 
Vm really and truly goin’ to the country. Aint that jolly 
Miss Delano and her uncle traversed the district ctf 


$rARincK. 


ISJ 

po«a: until they reached Fifth Avenue. The heat was grow- 
ing intense, and when they were passing the site of the new 
Roman Catholic cathedral, whose white walls glistened palm 
ftilly in the sunlight-, they were fortunate enough to discovei 
an empty hack driving down the avenue. Hailing the 
driver, they soon secured his services for the remainder of 
their journey, and reversing his course he drove them on to 
the Hospital of St. Luke. As the facade of that noble char- 
ity at length rose distinctly before them, the heiress re- 
marked upon the image of St. Luke in a niche above the 
entrance : — 

“ Uncle, I believe St. Luke was a physician.” 

“ Yes, an eminent member of the medical fraternity,” was 
the response. “ St. Jerome declares his conspicuous talent, 
and St. Paul indicates that he continued in the practice of 
aedicine after he had assumed! the ministry of the gospel. 
He won distinction also as an artist. The Menology of the 
Emperor Basil extols his proficiency in painting. Nicepho- 
rus and also Metaphrastes mention that he left paintings of 
Christ and the Madonna. Theodorus Lector, in the.year 518, 
asserts that a picture of the Virgin from the pencil of St. 
Luke was sent from Jerusalem to Pulcheria, the empress, 
who caused it to be hung in the Church of Hodegorum at 
Constantinople. One of his sacred paintings was placed in 
the Burghesian Chapel in St. Mary Major by Paul V.” 

“ I have often wondered, uncle, why, in stained-glass win- 
dows and ancient engravings, St. Luke is represented with 
an ox or a calf standing beside him.” 

“ The reason of that,” was the response, “ is derived from 
the efforts of the ancient writers to accommodate the four 
symbolical representations in Ezekiel to the four evange- 
lists. The ox or calf was an emblem of sacrifices. St. 
Luke in his Gospel dwells particularly upon Christ’s priestly 
office. Hence the symbol of sacrifice.” 

“ Was St. Luke a martyr? ” 

“ The authorities are confiicting. May, regarding his 
death. St. Hippolytus states that he was crucified at Elaia 
in Peloponnesus. The African Martyrology of the fifth age 
styles him Evangelist and Martyr ; St. Gaudentius of Bres* 
cia, St. Paulinas, and others, confirm this idea. But Bede, 
Ado, Usuard, and Baronius state that he only suffered much 
from persecution, and died at a very advanced age in 
;ihynia But here we are at the gate.” 


m 


WARWICK, 


Alighting, they passed through the grounds, ever preserv 
mg their neat and cleanly appearance, suggestive of health 
and comfiort, and reached the main entrance. At the dooi 
they met the nurse to whose care Constant Earle had been 
BO long entrusted. What was their surprise and annoyance 
to learn from her that this gentleman had just left the insti- 
tution, nearly restored to health, and leaving no clue behind 
whereby his future home might be traced I He had manifest 
ed the most profound gratitude to all who had befriended 
him in his severe illness, and had particularly expressed a 
wish to know the name and address of the lady who had 
taken him from his garret in the height of his fever. But as 
that charitable personage had expressly directed that her 
name should not reach his ears, he had departed without 
learning the identity of his benefactress. He had carried 
away with him his manuscripts, and had left for Miss Carrie 
Deramg a book, in slight acknowledgment of her kindness 
and attention to him. He was as absolutely lost again as 
if he had crossed the seas and penetrated to the heart of the 
Chinese Empire. His entire conduct in the hospital had ev- 
idenced his determination to remain incog. ; and in regard to 
his future residence, aspirations and intentions, the nurse 
could afford no satisfaction to inquirers. The impression 
of Miss Delano, on the steps of her nucleus residence, that the 
golden moment for securing an audience was that in which 
Constant Earle was passing the door, was now confirmed. 
The disowned was lost again, for who can speculate upon the 
probability of meeting an obscure individual in the great 
metropolis, — one whose pride would generally withdraw 
him from the thoroughfares where his father and himself had 
been so well known? 

After an unsatisfactory conversation with the nurse the 
two turned to leave the grounds of the hospital. Helen 
Blakely called them back. 

“ I have forgotten one thing. If you will wait a moment 
I will bring it to you. It is a book he left under his pillow. 
As you are so anxious to track him out it may help you ; 
but I don’t know as it amounts to much. Will you wait and 
see it?” 

“ Certainly,” said the clergyman. “ It may assist ui 
Go and bring it, Helen.” 

The girl ran into the building on her errand. la a few 


W'AMmcx:, 

minutes she returned with a book. Upon opening it the 
Reverend Thomas Delano exclaimed : — 

“ Why, this is the property of ‘ Robert Melville ' I Why, 
May, that is the name you gave me as the missing cousin 
of Lord Carnochan, the son of the marquis. This is the 
young man's property. It is the ‘ Christian Year, * with 
his name written plainly on the fly-leaf. This Constant 
Earle must be acquainted with him. Here is a clue to 
something. Look at it.” 

Upon examining it she discovered the name written plainly 
in pencil, and beneath it was traced almost illegibly, “ Pre- 
sented by his mother.” 

“ No doubt he was acquainted with Constant Earle,” she 
said. “ He may have been on intimate terms. Upon no 
other supposition could this book have been in the possession 
of Mr. Earle. You had better notify Lord Carnochan of 
this discovery, and he will come on and trace the matter 
out.” 

“I will write to him at once. Helen, you had better 
allow me to take possession of this book.” 

“ Certainly, sir.” 

“ And, if your patient returns for it, send him to my 
house.” 

“ Yes, sir. I will tell him that you know the parties, — 
shall I?” 

“ Tell him that a relative of the young man whose name 
is written here is anxiously searching for him to inform him 
of his heirship to a large fortune ! ” 

“Oh, is that it? I shall remember that, sir. Fortune? 
don’t grow on every bush. I’ll tell him, sir, just as you say, 
sir.” 

“ Take care of that book. May,” said her uncle, as they 
walked away to the hack. “ It is a slight clue, but may be 
the opening wedge to the whole aflair. We have now a 
double incentive to track Constant Earle.” 

As the carriage rolled away homeward. Miss Delano re- 
called the conversation between her aunt and Lord Car- 
nochan. Mrs. Bristed had informed her that young Melville, 
in his flight from England, probably carried with him an 
elegant watch and gun, the former having a miniature of 
Lord Carnochan in one of the covers. It was not improba- 
ble that, in the days of his affluence and prosperity, Crmstant 
Earle might have formed an acquaintance with and friend* 


!4d 


ffTAntncx, 


ship for the son of the marquis in his travels abioad. If 
they really were acquainted the discovery of the disowned 
might lead to the knowledge of Melville’s lurking-place. In 
the midst of these speculations the carriage paused befora 
her uncle’s house, and she hurried in to make her prepara- 
tioDS for a speedy departure to “ Sublimity.” 


Chapter XFI. 

Thus up the mount, in aery vision rapt, 

I stray, regardless whither; till the sound 

Of a near fall of water every sense 

Wakes from the charm of thought: swift shrinking back, 

I check my steps, and view the broken scene. 

Thomson’s Ssasohb. 

Not a hundred miles from the city of New York the 
Hudson receives a small tributary, which was known in the 
early history of the State as the Sorrow Kil. That name is 
now obsolete, and the stream, which is flanked on either side 
by manufacturing establishments, bears a name too familiar 
to modern ears to receive mention at this time. Near the 
Junction of this Kil with the river, a town of considerable 
importance has growm up around these mills. The stream 
for a mile back from the Hudson is nearly a due west line, 
and approaches the river by a series of leaps or falls, some 
of them as smooth and tame as the fall of water from a mill- 
dam, others foaming and fretting their way over ragged 
rocks, and terminating in whirlpools below. An admirable 
road has been constructed along the bank of this Kil, by 
blasting away the rocks, which in many places constitute 
the banks of the stream, and in some localities attain an 
altitude of thirty feet above the level of low water. Half a 
mile back of the town the Kil is shaded by dense masses of 
forest-trees, which find a soil for their roots in the crevices 
on the summit of the rocky banks . or jut from lateral fissures, 
and, at an angle of forty-five degrees, shade the traveller be- 
low. The farther the road leads to the westward, the higher 
grows the rock)’ bank, until at a distance of two miles from 


WAMmCK. 


141 


the Hudson, the cliffs have attained an altitude of sixty feet 
above low-wat(T mark, and the road has become the darkest 
and shadiest haunt that ever cooled and comforted a trav- 
eller in the sultry days of summer. Looking upward the 
eye sees only a narrow belt of blue sky frescoed with branches 
and leaves of oaks and maples, and looking downward at the 
left discovers the dark water of the Kil, now moving serenely 
and unruffled down its channel, and now broken into ripples 
by fragments of fallen rock in its bed. 

At this point, and exactly two miles from the Hudson, a 
white marble milestone is erected on a projection or spur of 
the northern or right-hand wall of rock. This milestone is 
the terminus of the rock excavation for the highway. Ab- 
ruptly the road turns to the northward around it, and, leav- 
ing the Kil, passes up a long but gentle ascent to the plateau 
on the summit of the cliff. Attaining the level at the summit 
the road continues on to the north and parallel with the Hud- 
son river, leading through pleasant and carefully tilled farms 
and past the country-seats of several elegant families from 
the metropolis. But the instant the traveller reaches the 
plateau and the level road, he will discover on his left the 
entrance to a great estate whose southern boundary appears 
to run along the top of the cliff or northern bank of the 
Sorrow Kil, and whose western boundary apparently follows 
a mountain ridge parallel with the Hudson. Two objects 
will instantly claim his attention, — an ancient and venerable 
mansion with sharp roof and gables, and with its front to 
the south, and a fairy-looking bridge, far beyond the lawn 
of the dwelling and high in air, distinctly traced against 
the blue sky on the west, and spanning a chasm fifty feet in 
width, formed b}*^ the approach of two mountain cliffs which 
lean towards each other. So elevated are the cliffs towering 
upward in the distance, at least half a mile west of the man- 
sion, that instant curiosity is aroused to know the reason of 
ft bridge being erected at so great and dizzy an altitude oa 
the very summit of. the highest peaks in the range of moun- 
tains. The chasm spanned by the bridge is really a gorge 
caused by some volcanic wrenching asunder of one solid 
rock mountain ; but in the distance the effect is that of two 
lofty and sharp-pointed cliffs, contiguous to and leaning 
towards each other. The slender bridge is so elevated tuid 
f'.)s away, and so narrow' and devoid of railing, that it n])pears 
like one s Angle stick of timber spanning the gorge, or 


142 


Warwick, 


miglit more readily be suspected of being the trunk of a tre€ 
which had fallen across from peak to peak. The summit of 
each cliff is devoid of trees or shrubbery, but about one hun- 
dred feet below the peak each is belted by a forest of pine and 
oak extending entirely down to the base of the mountain, and 
continuing for a great distance over the plain towards the 
ancient mansion. Fm* away beyond the bridge, to the 
northward and to the southward, are traced the peaks of a 
jQCuntain range, some of them foliage-crowned to their sum- 
mits, and others with tops evidencing the destructive sweep 
of fires, where acres of leafiess and half-burned trunks stand 
in desolation and ruin, giving a wild effect to the scene and 
a striking contrast to the lofty masses of dark-green foliage 
which robe the others to their tops. 

After gazing upward to the bridge, and speculating in 
vain upon the necessity of its erection at so elevated a 
point, the stranger will turn to the contemplation of the park 
which surrounds the mansion on every side. From the an- 
tique dwelling to every point of the compass extends a 
meadow of fine English grass, dotted at long intervals with 
giant maples, some standing in solitary grandeur, and others 
clustered in groups. The park is a mile and a half wide to 
the dense woods which cover the mountains, and, along the 
highway northward, it extends a distance of two miles till 
it meets the division fence of the adjoining property, a 
summer retreat of a wealthy metropolitan banker. To the 
west of the mansion is a small lake fed by a stream which 
wanders slowly through the park, and finally vaults down 
the precipitate bank into the Sorrow Kil. The lake has a 
border of young weeping willows, and a boat painted scarlet^ 
with a white belt around the gunwale, floats upon its bosom. 

But the maple-dotted park does not indicate the entire 
domain of the proprietor. The limits of the estate include 
not only a part of the wooded mountains on the west, but 
extend over and beyond the Sorrow Kil, taking in not only 
the great and unproductive swamps on its southern bank, but 
also the fine timber land and the arable fields which ex- 
tend beyond them, and which explain at once the propriety 
of the airy bridge which connects the estate divided by the 
Kil. At no other point is there feasible communication be- 
tween the parts of the severed estate. The road up one 
cliff, across the bridge and then down the other side, is the 
only means of reaching the arable lands without traversing 


WARmCS, 


14 ^ 


fearful swamps apparently bottomless and abounding ji dan- 
gerous quicksands. The severed mountain is the only dry 
medium of communication on the proprietor’s domain. Be- 
neath the bridge the chasm widens to the Kil below, where 
the waters foam and boil and dash in fury against the jagged 
and impeding rocks which have fallen into the chasm. 

One bright morning of summer a boy stood upon this 
bridge a^id peered down over its side into the foaming waters 
below. It was a dizzy height, and he studied the wild and 
fantastic ^rmations of the rocks with the wonder of youth 
and the pleasure of an appreciative nature. It was a marvel 
to him, so unused to scenes of grandeur, and so ignorant of 
the beauties nature had lavished upon his native State. He 
had approached timidly at first the edge of the bridge, where 
no railing or barrier had been erected for a spectator to 
lean over as he gazed downward. But a boy’s heart is gen- 
erally an adventurous heart, and he stood fearlessly at 
length near the edge, poised upon his crutch, and gazing 
down the gorge at the caldron of foaming, roaring, leaping 
water. 

“ By jingo I ” exclaimed the little cripple, after a thorough 
scrutiny of the place, “ they’re bileing rocks in that pot ; 
dinner’ll be late when they’re biled soft.” Then, as his eyes 
discovered at one side a pool of water almost motionless in 
its rock-bound basin, he continued, “ What a jolly place for 
fishin,’ if there’s any fish in thar I ” Then, after a brief re- 
flection he muttered, “ And there’s another ‘ if,’ — if thar’i 
any line that’ll reach ’em.” 

He hobbled off from the bridge, and gathered an armfiil 
of fragmentary rocks foom the cliff, and, returning to the 
edge, flung them down into the caldron. The answering 
splash was evident enough when the missiles struck the 
smooth water, but in the foaming centre of the stream there 
was no responsive sign. The duration of the rock’s flight 
Informed his eye that there was no feasible line within his 
present experience that would reach any lurking fish in the 
pools. It was manifest, moreover, that the perpendicular 
walls of rook, which guided the course of the Kil, presented 
no shelving steps which could conduct an angler down to 
within any feasible reach of the finny tribe. 

At length his eye grew familiar with the details of the 
gorge, and he turned back from the edge of the bridge foi 
piew discoveries. He looked away over the country spread 


144 


w^AMmcut. 


out below him, and the magnificent panorama of woods and 
waters, meadows and farms, hills and valleys, would have 
accounted to a much older spectator for the rapt eagerness 
and silence of the boy. Half a mile away the park and an- 
tique mansion seemed to have shrivelled in their proportions. 
The maples had shortened, and the house was less stately* 
and the lake was a miniature pool, while the stream which 
entered and left it had dwindled into a narrow line of water, 
a flashing belt in the sunlight. The neighboring farms and 
country-seats had dwindled, and the far-off highways inter- 
sected each other like dingy lengths of rope. The line of 
the Sorrow Kil could be traced by its border of forest-trees 
onward to the town whose church-spires glistened in the 
summer sun, and away in the distance rolled the Hudson, 
broad, calm, and following the line of lofty hills, with sails 
dotting its bosom. The general slope of the country was 
manifest whereby all its waters fell at length into the river. 
Startled by the novelty of the view, he turned and gazed 
westward, and beheld only ranges of forest-crowned hills 
and burnt mountains in which the source of the Son*ow Kil 
was involved in mystery. 

At this instant the clatter of hoofs sounded near him, and 
turning again he saw a steed climbing the ascent from the 
south, bearing a lady whose eyes were roving over the land- 
scape beneath her. In a few seconds the hoofs boomed 
hollow upon the bridge in the centre of which she paused. 
Her cheeks were blooming with excitement and exercise. 
She occupied at that instant the loftiest site in her realm. 
It was the mistress of “ Sublimity,” upon the apex of her 
estate, surveying her all in one glance. A smile parted her 
dewy red lips as she caught a glimpse of a white object 
against the background of green meadow below her. The 
milk-white courser of the Arabian desert was quietly graz- 
ing in the park of “ Sublimity.” He had wandered off 
near the woods of the western mountain, and there moved 
in unrestrained wildness and beauty upon the domain of his 
conqueror. 

“ Shorty,” she said, after a brief inspection of her realm, 
and pointing downward with the red coral handle of her 
whip, which she carried for ornament and not for use, “ I 
want you to master that horse. If you will learn to ride 
him well, I will take you out to many places with me which 
you will like to see. I make calls on some of my friendi 


ifiFAMmax, 


145 


00 horsebaclc, and when you are a good rider yox? shall 
accompany me. Do you hear?^' 

“ Yes, ma’am ; I’m goin’ to try every day. Mike put me 
enter him and gin us a turn round the barn-yard. He saye 
to me, ‘ Go it, yer cripple ; ’ and 1 did, I tell ye. Mike saya 
a horse is better nor crutches.” 

She cast towards the unfortunate youth one of her sunny 
smiles, which attracted hearts as quickly as her hauteur re- 
pelled them. 

“ You are fond of Mike,” she said. 

“ I am that,” was the quick response. “ Mike’s got funny 
ways, but he’s sound, I tell j^e. Ye see he knows horses, and 

1 knows spellin’, and we ’greed to swop.” 

His mistress lost the last words as her eye detected dark 
figures on the lawn before the mansion, and she exclaimed, 
“ Why, there are strangers, I believe ! Shorty, have the 
Demings come ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, ma’am,” was the response ; “ they cum afore I 
left ; the old gentleman and his lady and her too.” 

“ I must be off then,” she said, and moved on, taking her 
course down the cliff opposite to the one she had ascended. 
Warwick picked out his way carefully among the rocky fi’ag- 
ments which strewed the road, and soon disappeared with his 
rider in the woods which belted the mountain far below. His 
course now led under boughs of oaks and beeches, maples 
and pines, and birch and bass-wood trees, between whose 
trunks a road had been carefully cut. The descent was gen- 
tle from the point where the forest commenced gradually 
circling around the mountain on the northward until it 
reached the wooded plain. At the junction of mountain 
and plain a spring gushed from under a huge rock and crossed 
the path in a pebbly bed, whose loose stones crunched under 
Warwick’s hoofs and discolored the crystal water as he 
.•passed. The way was now nearly a dead level, stretching 
off under the branches in a hard-beaten and well-worked road, 
and the horse started oif in a brisk canter. The leaves nod- 
ded occasionally to the wind of their flight, and through the 
thickets on either side gushed the melody of the wood song- 
sters. A hare, aroused from his lurking-place by the sound 
of hoofs, leaped across the road and was off for his circular 
race, and then a partridge rose with a startling and hollow 
drumming sound and sped away in fear through the wild 
wood. A» the fearle>as rider bounded on along the forest 
U 


i4S 


WAMWBCK* 


&T«i&ne her eye caught erery dart and flutter of animal 
from the orange and black oriole, speeding amid the branch* 
es, to the quiver of the gray squiiTel’s brush, as he listened 
to the strange beat of hoofs and stood clinging to the side 
of some huge pine, and meditating a circular dash up to its 
impenetrable and secure summit of dark-green. She felt 
upon her cheek the cool and sudden air of a glen, down which 
she plunged, and rising beyond sped on through walls of rocks 
dressed in dark-green mosses, where the sound of hoofs was 
muffled by the luxuriant beds of the same growth directly 
athwart her way. Onward and still onward she bounded, 
the scene ever changing from undergrowth to cleared woods, 
from dry, leafy road to moist earth where some sluggish 
stream meandered, or some bolder rill fell into its rock basin 
with a purling melody. But over and around her at every 
bound the great trees spread their sheltering arms, and the 
sunbeams struggled feebly through their foliage. At length 
she reached an opening in the forest where the trees had 
been felled years gone by, and where the sunlight held sway. 
Here was a glimpse possible of her mansion with its broad 
gallery and its climbing vines. She saw it away off beyond 
the boundary of the forest, its ancient brick work and quaint 
chimneys showing distinctly over the meadows, and directly 
she lost it again in her onward sweep. 

After a detour of another mile along a forest road she 
swept out suddenly in the open meadows of the park, and 
bounded along a gravelled road to the east side of her home. 
From the summit of the bridge mountain to her residence, 
she had traversed two miles of road, the major part of it a 
sunless ride. It was one of her favorite haunts, where soli- 
tude was ever secured, and where no strange face could star- 
tle her, as the track led over her own grounds. She was soon 
before the door, dismounted, and in the arms of Carrie Dem* 
ing, her familiar. 

Her friend was below the middle size, but formed with per- 
fect elegance. She was a blonde with delicate features. The 
contour of her face was round, and her eyes were a deep blue, 
full of intelligence and spirit. Her cheeks were dimpled, and 
her ordinary expression was hilarious. Her bust was full, 
and her neck white and free from spot or stain as a snow-drift. 
Her silken, curly hair of light-brown was held with difficulty 
In the monstrous torture and confinement of modem fashion, 
waist was a dream of elegance, and her feet ludicrously 


WAMWtm, 


141 


ttnall. The only past of her physique which manifested lux* 
oriwt gro^h was her wonderful volume of hair. She had 
arrived far in advance of her friend^s expectation ; and noWv 
robed like a sylph in white, rushed out to greet Miss Dela- 
no. She was followed at a slower pace by her father, a white- 
haired gentleman of sixty, who left his wife seated under the 
vine-leaves of the gallery ; too helplessly an invalid to 
manifest hilarious greeting of her hostess. Mrs. Deming 
retained her seat in company with Miss Delano’s relatives, 
Mrs. Allen and son, one a widow of forty, who had just aban- 
doned her weeds, and the other, the sole heir to her property, 
a West Point cadet of seventeen, on his first furlough. 

As the elegant horsewoman alighted upon the huge stone 
block which had been the starting-point of equestrians for 
several generations of the Delano family, and which tradition 
maintained had been squared from the identical bowlder 
upon which Captain Delano, of the Continental cavalr}^, in the 
Bevolution, leaped his horse to cross a dangerous ravine in 
a charge upon English infantry crouching behind it, she was 
welcomed by a fervent pressure of Carrie’s lips, and by an- 
other salutation gallantly pressed upon her cheek by the gill’s 
father. As she relinquished the reins to the groom, and 
passed up the walk to the gallery, sandwiched betw'een Colo- 
nel Deming and his daughter, that gentleman bent low and 
whispered to her : — 

“ Mon ami est arrivi ce matin. II promet de venir de- 
main.** 

She smiled, but placed her finger upon her lips. Carrie 
caught the signal of silence however, and exclaimed : — 

“ It isn’t fair, pa, nor polite either, to be whispering. You 
and May are always having mischief which no one else can 
share.” 

“ Never mind, daughter, you shall know it all soon. I 
will state, however, for relief of all curiosity, that it is only a 
matter concerning one of May’s admirers. No doubt in 
your daily cabinet counsels she will post you on such mat- 
ters.” The colonel laughed at the ball of curiosity which 
he had put in motion with terribly accelerated force, for if 
there is one subject to a girl’s mind worthy of curiosity after 
her own personal aflfairs, it is to know the gentlemen who are 
smitten by the beauty of her Mend. She restrained herself, 
however, from any further comment at the time, fully awme 
that May Delano’s secrets would all leak out to her on som« 


US 


WAJkmCK. 


<x)iiildcr.tial evening, no matter how sedulously they 
be husbanded for the present. 

But the subject of the mysterious whisper made his appear- 
ance sooner than Colonel Deming had anticipated. For 
when, at a later hour, the lamps were lighted, and several 
vehicles from the neighboring country-seats deposited their 
fiilk and muslin draped occupants at the door of “ Sub- 
Mmity,” a gentleman sprang from one carriage, and escorted 
two maiTied ladles into the drawing-room, one of whom pre- 
sented him to the hostess as Captain Dumont. He was 
slight and short, with an elegant military bearing, and a 
long, curling mustache of brown hue, and eyes of blue, 
keen as Damascus steel. Self-possessed and brilliant, with 
the talents, audacity, adroitness, and poverty of Beaumar- 
chais, he blended the courtesy and accomplishments of Crich- 
ton. He was the impersonation of gallantry and merriment 
diaboiique. He was of good family in France, but his neces- 
sities drove him into the imi)erial army, where he gained dis- 
tinction, and a sabre-cut across his throat, which was partly 
visible above his necktie. He chanced to be in the South 
daring the rebellion, where his reckless spirit enlisted him in 
the Louisiana cavalry, and where he was fortunate enough 
to escape unharmed from his quixotic attempt to aid the 
Confederates. He had caught a glimpse of the heiress rid- 
ing in Central Park, and had gained a summer residence 
with the Lagranges, in the neighborhood of “ Sublimity,” 
that he might secure a familiar acquaintance with her. In 
the brilliant society that ever revolved about “ the beautiful 
aristocrat,” it was an event to engross the attention of the 
whole company by the utterance of either wisdom or wit. 
But several times during the soiree Captain Dumont dis- 
covered that his remai’ks elicited the silence or laughter of 
every one about him. Ho was too refined to make himself 
conspicuous long, and turned away naturally, on each lull in 
the conversation, to some one else, or to a lower key. His 
insouciant references to foreign adventure, or literary celebri- 
ties of every land, attracted the notice of the hostess early in 
the evening, and when she had succeeded, at last, with the 
tact of true hospitality, in drawing out the peculiar excellen- 
ces of each one’s education, and seeing every guest unem- 
barrassed and mated with those in conversation with whom 
there would be sympathy, she turned to the French offlomr. 


WARmcx. 


141 

who had Just completed a duet at tlie piano with Miss I>em* 

ing. 

“ Captain Dumont, I heard you remark that King Alfred 
founded the University of Oxford.” 

“ Certainly, Miss Delano,” was the answer, given with a 
slight foreign accent. “ That admirable monarch was the 
scholar, soldier, and statesman of his age ; no tongue evei 
vilified him, no historian ever imputed the ^^iightest vice to 
him, and yet he was an ignorant 5muth, for he attained the 
age of twelve before he could even read.” 

“No doubt,” said Miss Delano, “ the confusion attendant 
upon the invasions of the Daues will account for this neg;- 
lect.” 

“ You are quite correct, I have no doubt,” was the cour- 
teous response. “ You certainly are right in this instance. 
But it is recorded by Asserius, of MineAia, and by St. Ncott, 
King Alfred’s counsellor, by whose advice he founded Ox- 
ford, and other historians, that this youtliful neglect was 
followed by wonderful development of genius directly after. 
His mother exhibited to him and his brothers a book in 
Saxon verse, which should become the property of him who 
first learned to read and understand it. He, like many of 
the greatest lights of the world, loved poetr}^, and, hastening 
to his teacher, would not rest until he had learned to read it, 
and moreover committed it to memory. While still a3"outh, 
he committed to memory several poems. He was a scholar 
in those early days of England, and his acquirements are 
almost incredible when we recall his military career and his 
statesmanship.” 

“ He was a jurist of no mean ability,’’ interposed a prom- 
inent counsellor of the New York bar. 

Captain Dumont turned gi’aciously to the new speaker and 
bowed. 

“ The compilations made by Alfred, from the laws of Ina, 
OflTa, and Ethelbert, to which he added laws stamped with 
the genius and wisdom of his own brain, assuredly entitled 
him to that distinction.” 

“ I believe he also instituted trial by Jury,” interposed th« 
lawyer. 

“ If I recollect. Judge Evans,” said Miss Delano, “ he was 
the terror of your profession. Captain Dumont, am I right ? 
You see I appeal to your superior knowledge of the king 

jott eulogize.” 


150 


WAMWICK. 


“ Ah, Miss Delano, so elegant a lady is right. How do 
you say it, very right ? no, alioays right ; that is what I would 
say.” He bowed before he continued. “ King Alfred hung 
upon a tree forty-five judges in one year for sins committed 
in their official capacity.” 

This caused no little merriment at Judge Evans* expense, 
who took it pleasantly, however, and remarked, “ Yes, that 
Is historical. Milton says that in Alfred’s time justice not 
only flourished but triumphed.** 

Mrs. Deming’s emaciated countenance was beaming with 
interest, as she drew her chair nearer to this group. Her 
dark-blue eyes were brilliant, as she remarked, “ This 
character will ever interest me intensely. His patronage of 
letters alone entitles him to the veneration of posterity. But 
when we recall the fact that every art and science flourished 
under his protecting influence ; that he divided the yearly 
revenues of his patrimony among the poor, the ancient seats 
of learning, the monasteries, the schools of his own found- 
ing, and donations to foreign literary foundations, and 
caused the children of his nobility to be educated in his own 
court, and under his own eye, and, in addition to this, 
founded a navy and sent out ships to discover and report 
upon remote countries, we must honor him, and in the lan- 
guage of Campbell, ‘ confess that the age of Alfred was far 
superior in knowledge to those that succeeded it.’ ” 


Cfjapler IFI5. 

Whftt is sooial company 
Bnt a babbirng summer stream 7 
What our vrise philosophy 
But the glancing of a dream 7 

0. P. CmAMom. 

All eyes were turned to this new speaker. It was man 
Ifest enough that she was not far from the border of the 
spirit-land. But, from the frail casket which still confined 
the spirit, pearls of memory and appreciation would drop 
firami the h^ped-up store. Her smooth, gray hair and Yen' 


iTAMmcs:. 


m 

arable appearance gave dignity and force to her words, and 
the light which flickered to her still expressive eyes mem- 
orized the days when, in beauty and intellect, she was a 
queen of the social circle. 

Captain Dumont gazed for an instant at her, as she sat 
feebly in her arm-chair, and then said, in accents of the 
highest reverence, “ You put us to our mettle, madame, to 
recall the characteristics of this wonderful prince. I have^ 
heard my mother often say that in her younger days girls 
of good family were expected to be familiar with the names 
and deeds of all the great of past ages. The elegance of 
learning is superficial now, beside the acquirements of tha 
fair sex when you, madame, were a young lady.’' 

“ Thank you. Captain Dumont. Your idea is correct in 
some respects. Trivial authors have supplanted the ancient 
wisdom of my girlhood’s favorites in the hearts of my 
countrywomen. But ‘ nil desperandum ’ be our motto. I 
was once familiar with every act and anecdote of Alfred’s 
life. If my memory does not fail me he translated Bede’s 
‘ Church History ’ from Latin into the Saxon language.” 

“ He did, madame. Your memory is as unfailing as your 
appreciation of culture. This brilliant man translated, also, 
Orosius* ‘ Roman History,’ and Boetius’ ‘ De Consolatione 
Philosophise.’ ” 

“ I recollect that fact, captain. He carried this last book 
always with him.” 

“ Yes, madame, and no doubt you recall the ‘ Enchiridion,’ 
or manual of meditations composed by him, and his Saxon 
translation of the New Testament, and that his laws were 
published by Wilkins.” 

“Perfectly, sir, perfectly. Those were my favorite 
studies when a girl, familiarizing myself with antiquity. It 
was an honor then to be cultured. They did not style us by 
guch an unmeaning epithet as ‘ bibliomaniacs.’ ” 

“ Ah, madame,” was the gallant response, “ beauty was 
then only the mantle of woman. Her crown was intellect. 
Do you recall the enthusiasm of Plato ? ‘ Man without culture 
and education is the most savage of all creatures which the 
earth nourishes.* ” 

“ I do, captain, and the praise of the lovely Arista, penned 
by that poet whose country and parentage are an^owng 

Ifteleager. 


fT^JSWTVK, 


M 

" * Henoo her resistless beftuty, matohlees mmm, 

The musio of her voice, the eloquence 
Thftt, e’en in silence, flashes from her face: 

All strikes the ravished heart, for all is grace.’ 

That was written one hundred years before the oomlng of 
our Saviour.” 

“ Beautifully given, Mrs. Doming,” exclaimed the hostess. 
“ But there is one saying ascribed to King Alfred which 
merits attention, and it sustains my theory of office-holding. 
He compelled every freeman, who had two hides of land, to 
send his sons to school, and retain them there until they 
were fifteen years of age. His theory and his language 
were, ‘ A man born free, who is unlettered, is to be regarded 
no otherwise than a bea/jt, or a man void of understanding.* 
I agi*ee with him. There is no enormity so glaring in our 
country, as the elevation of the ignorant to office, by political 
parties, over the heads of the cultured and the educated. It 
prevails everywhere in our land, and to a fearful extent in 
our cities. What fits men for places of trust? Education. 
What unfits them ? Ignorance. And must I, and those who 
think with me, be calumniated, because we advocate a system 
which elevates only the educated to high trust? A gentle- 
man who clings to power in the city of New York, by the 
suffrages of the most ignorant portion of the population, 
tells me that I think myself made of a little better material 
than other people, because I maintain the distinction and 
pre-eminence of classes. I will maintain it in sympathy with 
the educated and the cultured of centuries. K the proposi- 
tion that knowledge qualifies, and ignorance unfits, for office 
is sound, then our system of elections and office-holding is 
erroneous. Give all the right of sufirage when they shall 
have made the generous effort, and acquired information. 
Grade „he privileges of being elected to the subordinate po- 
sitions and to the higher places of trust, by ascending scales 
of education. You find no difficulties in making qualifica- 
tions for voters regarding length of residence in the country 
and domicile. You can prescribe their age. You can exclude 
my scholarly cousin of nineteen, and admit a foreigner, or an 
ignorant country boor, who knows no more of the value and 
inviolability of a written constitution than he knows of the 
‘ Pandectse * of Justinian. And you can make and have 
made property qualifications the most dishonorable and 
shameffil to a State that pretends to the possession of intelti 


WAmWWK, 


m 


gdnoe and ideas, — a balancing of gold against the divine ate 
tributes of the mind. Make the voters ail educated men, 
and then demand higher culture and broader knowledge foi 
the elective. The higher the office, the more thorough the 
culture.” 

“But, Miss Delano,” interrupted Judge Evans, “the 
brightest luminaries of America ha^’e, in their origin, been 
ignorant, and by the force of native talent have attained 
eminence.” 

“ A few. Judge Evans, a few only. Read me the list of 
such who have served the State to the State’s advantage, 
and I will point out to you many great qualities of those 
men, darkened and eclipsed by want of early education. 
They have manifested greatness, but it has generally been 
one flash of lightning to an hour of cloud ; it has been the 
gleam of the diamond through its native dust-heap. Their 
greatness of thought has been irregular; their actions be- 
tray unguided force and unbalanced virtue. They are great 
and noble, but ever they exhibit how great has l)eon the 
disaster of early ignorance. On the other hand array before 
me the Revolutionary celebrities of our State, — our Jays, 
Hamiltons, Livingstons, Morrisses, and that pageantry of 
statesmen who start up before us at the memory of our 
first State constitution and our Federal compact, — and I will 
trace in each one a liberal and early education, enriched by 
classical knowledge, and strengthened by information re- 
garding the peoples and laws of other lands, ancient and 
modem. I will point you to the records of their early life, 
their college days, and their probationary periods in the 
schools of law; and in their correspondence open to you 
language and ideas enriched by quotations of Greek, and 
Latin, and French, and proclaiming them masters of the art 
of orthography, rhetoric, and belles lettres. He that un- 
derrates native talent is weak ; blit he that would cause it to 
trample upon cultured talent is a madman. The marble of 
Pentelicus, in its native whiteness and splendor, challenges 
our admiration ; but only when fashioned by the chisel of 
Ictinus and Phidias, and carved by Scopas hnd Ih’axiteles, 
is it worthy an elevation to the Parthenon of our venera- 
tion.” 

She spoke eagerly, earnestly, and her eyes beamed aa 
lamps of thought. The love and pride of her native State 
niOTed her. 


m 


fTAMWim, 


‘‘Ton wonld advocate, then, the policy of the Athenians,, 
Miss Delano,” interposed Judge Evans. “Their highest 
offices were held onlj’- by the Pentacosiomedimni ; theii 
second grade were called the Hippodatelountes, the third 
class the Zengitae, and the common people the Thetes.” 

“ With this difference, judge : I would make the classes 
eligible to office upon an educational basis. That was the 
error of Solon in framing his laws ; he made property the 
test. I would make brains the test ; brains drilled and cul* 
tivaited in the schools. The Thetes were allowed to vote ; I 
would not allow them to vote until they had fulfilled the 
requirements of the educational test. I would make them 
eligible to the highest places when they had by study quali- 
fied themselves for them ; not when they had amassed 
wealth. In my opinion, popular government, where every 
Ignoramus can vote, or be elevated to office, is preposterous. 
How forcible the apothegm of Lj^curgus, when advised to 
establish popular government in Lacedaemon : ‘ Go and 
first make a trial of it in thy own family.^ No, judge, show 
me an educated constituency, and I will show you a superior 
statemanship, and an exalted bench of judges. The defini- 
tion given by Anacharsis of a democratic government is 
laconic : ‘ Wise men propose and fools decide,^ ” 

“There is one essential element in the organization of 
political reformations,” interrupted the earnest, silvery tones 
of Mrs. Deming, “ that merits attention, It is a silent and 
invisible agent ; but, like the touch of Midas, it turns all to 
gold. It is the language of a great Ruler : ‘ The law of the 
Lord is perfect, converting the soul ; the testimony of the 
Lord is sure, making wise the simple. The statutes of the 
Lord are right, rejoicing the heart ; the~ commandment of 
the Lord is pure, enlightening the eyes.* Give me the 
assurance that the humblest child of Adam knows and ac- 
knowledges his duty to love and serve God, I care not what 
may be his creed or his country, and I have found half the 
secret to the intelligence and impartiality of his political 
vote. If you insist upon his secular education as the pre- 
liminary to his political advancement, I demand that ho 
know the statutes of the eternal God also. I demand that 
my ruler believe with Plato, in the immortality of the soul, 
the existence of a Divinity eminently good, who has decreed 
the observance of justice, and that true virtue is an imita- 
of God. Let liim admit that, and I can trust him. 


WARWICK, 15 ^ 

Kstabllsh, if you please, ftirther tests of citizetiship, grades 
of education for the elective franchise, and academic honors 
as the tests for rulers and statesmen, but ensure first a deo 
laration of belief in an overruling and just Deity.” 

The words fell earnestly and solemnly from the aged lips 
so soon to crumble to dust. There was no response. Again 
the sweet, cultured tones stole over the silent assembly; 
and in the contemplation of that animated and still beauti- 
ful face all experienced what Lord Karnes has styled “ the 
sympathetic emotion of vktue.” So had spoken, in her 
days of power and influence, the superb mother of May 
Delano ; and now something in the pathos and melody of 
the tones drew the orphan unconsciously nearer to the 
speaker. 

“ Morality, as a qualification and requisite for citizenship, 
has been the aim of wise men from the earliest ages. Cha- 
rondas framed a law for the Thurians, imposing heavy fines 
upon any who were discovered to be on terms of intimacy 
with immoral persons. There was intense wisdom in that 
decree ; but perhaps for the intricate transactions of mod- 
em business such a law would be impracticable. I have 
wandered, at diflerent periods of my life, in every land. I 
have learned many languages, and conversed with elegant 
society everywhere in their own vernacular. I have seen 
the learned of the great capitals, and grown familiar with 
their society and literature, and my interest has been ever 
awakened in the triumph of virtuous culture over the fas- 
cinating and insidious attainments of immorality and gilded 
vice. Among those who recognize not God, there is often a 
gayety, a freedom of manners and elegance, which may 
readily engage the unwary. Literary talent and eminent 
genius so frequently cloak the worst purposes and principles 
of the heart, that one is unconsciously fascinated before the 
resultant evil is detected. I have known the clergyman, 
polished and affable, wielding the pen of Grotius, and con- 
versing with the eloquence and enthusiasm of Hardwicke, 
and pleading from his pulpit with the elegance and sub- 
limity of St. Clement in his ‘ Pedagogue,' and his exhortation 
to the Gentiles. It was all vanity. It cloaked libertinism 
and indulgence. Upon the fair silver shield of native tal- 
ent the foul fiend had breathed and the lustre was dimmed* 
The pernicious influence such a man may exert is incalcular 
ble. The statesman, by the force of his eloquence and the 


m 


WAAW1CK» 


Splendor of his diction, may mislead the people to final ruia 
Hence I maintain that every approach to executive and 
judicial and legislative office should be fortified. In th« 
first instance, the voter should avow the ascendancy of tht 
Divinity. Then no man should cast his ballot except for an 
upright, moral, God-fearing man ; that fact to be ascertained 
by the emploj^ment of all the faculties granted us for caution 
and moral defence.” 

“Madame,” responded Captain Dumont, “your theory 
would have spared my sative land the horrors of its Revolu- 
tion. My ancestors were slaughtered like sheep, as an obla- 
tion to this spirit of indifference and irreligion. Men may 
sneer at it now, but inevitably political convulsion and ruin 
overtake the people who forget God. Strength of character 
does not consist in defying Heaven, in ignoring the pure 
impulses which were fanned to flame at the mother’s knee. 
Religion strengthens the resolutions of man to bear misfor- 
tune with dignity. Atheism, scepticism, hardens the heart, 
and tends to blunt the imagination, to depress the spirit, 
and to contract idealism. The sublimity of poetry, the 
ardor of patriotism, the glories of self-sacrifice, have all, in 
their highest development, been associated and identified 
with the convictions of religion.” 

As this conversation was finally interrupted by the en- 
trance of servants with refreshments. Miss Delano turned 
away, but with the determination to know more of this vola- 
tile and gifted Frenchman, who had seen such varied ser- 
vice and adventure, and yet retained, amid all his vivacity 
and roving character, the deepest impressions of religion 
and virtue. His deference to, and sympathy with, Mrs. 
Deming’s religious vein was as edifying as his previous wit 
and learning had been amusing. Carrie Deming, whose 
eyes detected every movement of her friend, observed that, 
later in the evening, she sought again the society of the 
officer, naturally and easily enough, aid vv^ithout arousing 
apparently the curiosity of any other guest. But she, alive 
ever to the dignity and reserve of her friend’s manner, knew 
that some sudden fancy had taken possession of her. The 
heiress approached the table where he was turning over 
carelessly the leaves of Voltaire’s “ Hcuriad,” and requested 
his opinion of the poem. 

“ You may have honored me. Miss Delano,” he replied, 
“auflfciently to bear in mind that I remarked once befbrt 


WARWiai 


157 


this etenlng that scepticism tends t ;. hliml -he miaginution. 
The ‘ Henriad* sustains me in that assertion. The v jrsification 
is admirable, the style easy and flowing, and the narrativs 
well sustained. But something more is requisite to the for- 
mation of a perfect epic. The supernatural is the life of an 
epic poem. Observe that this scoffer attains the height of 
the sublime and the beautiful only when religion is introduced. 
And yet so perverse was this gifted intellect that when the 
Divinity appears he must clothe him, not in the splendor of 
the Christian’s God, but in the false attributes of an allegori- 
cal Deity. He bows to the paramount necessity of religion 
as a step to the glorious, the thrilling, the elevating, and yet 
turns his back upon the true God.” 

The dignifled and beautiful recognition of the supernatural 
will ever exalt a man in the estimation of a true woman, and 
one so fervent in the practices of her faith as his listener was 
irresistibly drawn towards him. 

“ You have repeated my own words regarding this poem. 
Uncle requested me to read it, and give him my impression 
of its beauties, and that was substantially my remark. Bril- 
liant, elegant, urbane, Voltaire failed to attain the height 
nature designed him for by his senseless infidelity. Hiii# 
great works never fulfilled the promise of his real abilities, 
But tell me, as you have alluded to his introduction of alle- 
gorical characters, do you admire that poet who sometimes 
opens with the invocation : — 

* With Jove begin, ye Nine, and end with Jove' 7 

1 allude to the gifted bucolic poet, Theocritus.” 

“ Ah, Miss Delano,” exclaimed the gallant Frenchman, 
“ how wonderful that you should have alluded to him whose 
words have been whispering in my ears from the moment I 
was honored by your acquaintance and your condescen* 
sion ! ” 

“ I was not aw'are,” was the pleasant response, “ that any- 
thing about me could recall Theocritus. I am too intensely 
modern to be suggested by the memory of the distinguished 
Greek.” 

“ Not at all. His power consis^iv in his perfect portrait- 
ure of all periods of the world. Mark his miniature of m^^ 
hostess in his famous epithalamiuia of Helen and Meno 
laus : — 

** * When «he Appears, are au e«»kipsed and lost, 

And bide the beauties that w« made our boaoi. 

14 


m 




Aad fts, when winter melte, when darkneM flki, 

And spring end noontide brighten all the skies, 

So bloomed the virgin Helen in our eyes; 

So bloomed she, beautiful above the rest, 

Tall, slender, straight, with all the graces blest.’ 

She is a wonderful daughter of Eve v<rho, at all times, is proof 
against poetical and graceful flattery. Miss Delano’s cheeks 
bloomed instantly like the rose plucked by Proserpina on 
the Nysian plain. 

“ Beware the fate of Alessio I ” she said amid her blushes. 
But the incense of adulation was grateful nevertheless. It 
is a weakness of all human nature. The manner of the ap- 
plication alone gauges the pleasure. The familiar across 
the drawing-room failed not to notice the sudden flush, and 
marvelled discreetly. One quick glance of his steel blue eyes 
informed the officer that his shaft had wounded his quarry. 
With exquisite tact he turned the conversation directly to 
the vein which his previous observation and information had 
apprized him was the most agreeable. He glanced across 
at a case of stufled birds, and remarked, “You love natural 
history, I see. I share your taste, and my travels have con- 
firmed my youthful fancy.” 

“ I am only a tyro in that realm,” she said, studying care- 
fiilly his physiognomy as she spoke. There was a bright, 
triumphant light in his eyes and a joyous expression which 
puzzled her. “ Moses, Aristotle, and Buffon are my delight, 
but in the haunts of my own native hills do I alone feel at 
home with nature. The classifications of this immediate 
neighborhood I am quite familiar with. I know every beast 
and bird and fish that makes ‘ Sublimity ’ a temporary or a 
permanent home. These birds in the case were shot for me 
by my cousin, who is one of the best ornithologists of the 
State, for his years.” 

“ Do you not sometimes fear. Miss Delano, that this fever 
for classification, for reducing all things to physical symbols, 
for seeing nothing in creation but teeth, beaks, claws, and 
Vertebrae, may lead to materialism ? ” 

“ Mot at all. Though I discover differences in the natures 
of men, — that some discover beauty, a spiritual beauty, in 
every flower and every motion of a bird, and others seem 
devoid of all appreciation that is not predicated pon material 
uses, — I cannot believe that iii any man the soul is wholly 
torpid, or that investigation can render it so My theory of 


WAMmCX. 


151 


ChristiaL.^ is that it so enlightens the heart that every re 
search confirms the truth, throws light upon it. I believe 
that the study of nature leads to God, tends in that direction, 
and that only perversity distracts man from him in the 
study of his works. Revealed religion does not abolish 
natural religion, but strengthens it and acts in harmony with 
it. I should not be afraid to probe into the material for- 
mation of any living or inanimate creation. Nor do I hold 
the doctrine that without revealed religion the heart is in- 
sensible to beauty. I know better. I know that had I, as a 
daughter of a North American savage, been placed when a 
little girl upon those lofty peaks spanned by my bridge, and 
suffered to grow up in communion with the skies above and 
scenery beneath me, allowed to cull the flowers and watch tho 
sweep of the eagle sunward, I would have found that spiritual 
sense of beauty which would have whispered ‘ God.’ Chris- 
tianity is not everything. Before it came, the world revolved 
in loveliness and the majesty of the eternal was revealed in 
his works. Christianity was the physician, not the creator, 
of man. No I Captain Dumont, I am not afraid of exploration. 
Research confirms truth and blasts falsehood. Evil only 
fears the light. But my guests appear to be preparing foi 
flight. I should be happy to continue our acquaintaneer 
Mrs. Lagrange is a very intimate friend of mine, and often 
rides with me. On our horseback expeditions I should feel 
honored at any time by your escort, or when I ride alone.” 

“ I am too happy,” exclaimed the officer ; “ my cup of joy 
is full. When will you ride again?” 

“ My first excursion will be to-morrow morning early, long 
before you will think of opening your eyes.” 

“ Ah, Miss Delano, may I attend you to-morrow morning 
if my eyes are open?” 

She laughed merrily, and then said, “ Gertainement, 
monsieur, Aimez-mus Vair le matin ? ” 

“ Omi, owi’,” exclaimed the delighted Dumont; “/aimd 
Vair le matin** 

They were parted at this moment by the rush of the retir* 
ing guests, who came forward to take leave of their hostess. 
As Captain Dumont swept out of the drawing-room with two 
ladies upon his arms, he gave Miss Delano one of those intense 
and undisguised looks of admiration which few women are 
at a loss to interpret. She was interested enough in this 
ftranger to feel the compliment, and turning to her firiendi 


ito 


WJURmOM. 


who was carefully watching every movement and glance^ 
said quietlj’' and in her usual unruffled tone : — 

“ Captain Dumont and I are likely to be friends someday. 
I like him.” 

“I should fancy you did,” was the instantaneous ro* 
sponse. 

“ You have done nothing the whole evening but look into 
his beautiful eyes whenever you dared.” 

“ Nonsense, Carrie. He is talented and graceful. I could 
admire him very well as an acquaintance, a casual acquaint* 
ance, nothing more.” 

“ Nous verrons” was the incredulous response. The con^ 
versation was checked at this juncture, and the female cat- 
echism reserved for the night-watches above stairs. 

After the friends had attained the privacy of their bed- 
chamber Miss Deming unbosomed herself thus : — 

“ Now I can tell you what I have been crazy to mention 
the whole evening. What do you think I have got?” 

“ A letter from the moon probably. How should I know ? ” 

“ No, it’s a letter from the son, — the son of somebody. 
Heaven knows who. There’s a book with it too, written by 
himself, and such a lovely book ! Just like him. I can see 
him on every page.” 

“Well, you are as incomprehensible as the Cumman sibyl. 
Go on. What a relief it is to raze this mountain of Pisgah 
from one’s head ! ” 

As she spoke down fell a torrent of chestnut hair, cover- 
ing her like the Grecian ideal of the foam-born. 

“ Why, it’s a note from that marvel of beauty at St. Luke’s. 
I wrote you about him.” 

“Certainly; that is inljeresting. Go on; I’m listening. 
What is his name ? ” 

“ Why, I told you that we all believed he was concealing 
his name and family. He signed this note simply “ Icono- 
clast,” the same name as his nom de plume in the book. He 
went away from the hospital without leaving any direction 
by w'hich I could acknowledge the receipt of this book. He 
just vanished ; and I don’t know who he is from Adam. He 
thanked me most eloquently for my attention to him. Her® 
is the letter and here is the book.” 

She handed the two to her friend, w^ho had thrown herself 
iapon the bed preparatory to a midnight chat. Miss Delaiif 


WAnmcjs:. 


U\ 

glanced over the brief but ardently worded note, and thot 
opening the book and glancing over the title-page said ; — 

“Why, you can ascertain who he is at his publisher^ aj 
Duman%*s.” 

“Not a bit of it, May. I attemped that ganae, but Du* 
mandy laughed at me, saying, ‘ The author is strictly incog* 
nito. I am soriy that I cannot gratify you, Miss Deming.* 
But read me a few pages. I want you to see the style. There 
is a novelty about it that is refreshing. Open an3^where. 
I don’t care, as I have read only parts of it, and intend to read 
it regularly through after a while.” 

The heiress commenced at the first chapter, and before she 
was aware of the flight of time the clock in her room, with a 
loud, whirring note of preparation, struck two. 

“ Mercy ! ” she exclaimed. “ It is so late, and I have to 
rise so early in the morning.” The coverlet covered her and 
her friend in an instant, and in a few moments Somnus reigned. 
But over the head of Miss Delano waved the sceptre of 
dreams, and through the silence of the summer night came 
“ murmurs from the deep sea,” musical as those that followed 
the flying Amphitrite and secured the dolphin a place among 
the stars. 


(Tfjapter XFIO. 

I never met a Frenchman in all my life who would not postpone the idea of 
Paradise altogether for the sake of a pretty woman. 

Lola Moirms. 

The sun was reaching over the eastern hills and tipping 
the park grass with diamonds, as the heiress appeared in her 
riding-habit upon the deserted lawn before her dwelling. 
Fresh from her cold bath, which came as regularly as the morn- 
ing prayer, her step was as elastic and her cheek as blooming 
as though she had enjoyed her usual quantum of rest. She 
passed rapidly down the walk to the mounting-block, secured 
a firm seat upon her steed, took the bridle from the groom, 
and bounded away towards the Sorrow Kil. Her guests 
were asleep, and silence brooded over “ Sublimity.” When 
she reached the porter’s lodge “ Shorty” hobbled out to open 
the gate for her, and communicated the fact that a gentleman^ 


16 f 


WARWICK. 


mounted and restless, had made his ap^ earance several timefl 
before the lodge, inquiring for her. He had been too impa« 
tient, or his horse had been too uneasy, to tarry long at a 
time, and she would no doubt find him somewhere below on 
the Kil road. But she had just issued into the highway when 
Captain Dumont made his appearance, coming down the 
northern road from the direction of the Lagrange estate at 
full speed. He had kept his eye upon the park, and saw her 
in the distance leaving the gallery. As he joined her, with 
his keen eyes flashing with delight, and reined his horse to 
her moderate pace, she said : — 

“ You remind me. Captain Dumont, of the Chaldeans. ] 
recalled their wild flight as I saw you tearing down the road. 
Are you scriptural scholar enough to repeat the account ? ” 

“ No, fair lady ; my memory fails me. Your superior talent 
must recall the verses to me, and then I shall tell you why 
you are a disciple of my beautiful countrywoman, Diana de 
Poitiers.” 

“ Do you refer to her sanitary career ? ” 

“Ah, you know everything, Miss Delano. You shall 
eclipse her fifty years, I am sure. Now will you honor me 
with the verses as we descend this gloomy wood, which re- 
calls the opening lines of Dante's ‘ Inferno ' ? ” 

They were descending to the dense shadows which dark- 
ened the rock-hewn road along the Sorrow Kil, and she re- 
peated, in a clear, spirited tone, the words of Habakkuk : — 
“ ‘ Their horses also are swifter than the leopards, and are 
more fierce than the evening wolves ; and their horsemen 
shall spread themselves, and their horsemen shall come from 
far ; they shall fly as the eagle that hasteth to eat.' ” 

“ Vous etee la dame la plus magnijique que je connaisse,** 
exclaimed the excitable officer, spurring on after her, for, 
gaining the level road of the Kil, she proceeded to put in ex- 
ecution the last line of the quotation, and proceeded at a 
pace which gave her companion no opportunity for conversa- 
tion or compliments. He soon overtook her, however, and, 
after a few remarks of admiration at the beauty of the se- 
cluded glen, proceeded to satisfy his curiosity regarding 
something which had attracted his attention in the park. 

“ Will you do me the honor,” he said, “ to Inform me what 
is the beautiful horse I see in the field? Do you ride him, 
the white horse ? I should think a lady would prefer him for 
her saddle-horse,” * 


WAMWWS, 


m 


He is mine,” was the response flung back to him orei 
her shoulder, as Warwick was again taking the lead. 
won him in a race. Do you credit it? ” 

“ Certainement^ mademoiselle. So fine a rider might do 
anything. But did you win him from a lady ? ” 

“ No, from a gentleman ; and an elegant horseman he w&i 
too. Ho is a full-blooded Arabian steed, and 1 call hh^ 
Mnslama.” 

“ Ah, Muslama I ” exclaimed her companion. “ I was very 
sure of it. You know Monsieur Earle, then ; I see, I see I ” 

“ Do you know Mr. Earle? ” she said, in surprise, checking 
Warwick’s pace. 

“ Many years, Miss Delano. I travelled with him in Per- 
sia.” 

“ How fortunate I You are just the one I should like to 
ask a favor from.” 

“ So lovely a lady can ever command me. Speak, my 
lady. I am your subject, and a soldier.” 

“ Mr. Earle has invited me to visit his country-seat below 
here with my friends. Miss Deming and I wish to call there 
some day, as he has a fine museum, and we want to inspect 
it. Now, if you will be kind enough to escort us, I will send 
my carriage for you, and you shall be our gallant.” 

“ I shall be too happy. It is too much honor. When will 
you go, mademoiselle?” 

“ This morning, after breakfast, if it is convenient for you.” 

“ I am ready to obey your commands every hour, every 
minute.” 

“ Very well. You are very kind, captain. I shall con- 
sider you engaged for eleven o’clock this morning, and you 
may expect my caniage at Mrs. Lagrange’s at that hour.” 

They bounded along at a brisk gallop towards the village, 
where Miss Delano usually attended in person to her market- 
ing, and whither she was bound, at this early hour, to make 
provision for the increased number of her guests. She 
pointed out every object of interest to the officer as they 
sped, and before their arrival in the streets of the village he 
was more fascinated and enthralled by her beauty and love- 
liness than upon the previous evening. The gay, humorous 
vein in the man’s character developed under the influence of 
her buoyant spirits and her merry laugh, and finally she was 
utterly absorbed in listening to his rattling descriptions of 
ftmign adventure, or convulsed with laughter at his droll ro 


WAEWWX, 


m 

upon men and character. When they arrived at length 
(n the streets of the town, he as'iisted her to alight, and 
awaited her return when she entere^i her familiar haunts for 
marketing purposes, and stood deninrely holding the bridles 
of both horses. At length the house-keeping orders weie all 
given, and, mounting their steeds, tliey were off for a gallop 
along the river-side, and a return homeward by another and 
longer route. They soon found themselves upon pleasant 
terms of intimacy, and Miss Delano was priding herself upon 
having discovered at last an acquaintance who would enjoy her 
society, and be serviceable to her in her many expeditions to 
the surrounding country, when she was surprised by a mani- 
festation of French gallantry, so startling and yet so eminently 
ridiculous that she nearly lost all control of herself and her 
horse in her con^nilsions of laughter. After a bold sweep up 
the river road of some two miles^ duration, they turned to the 
westward, and ascended a road leading upward through a glen 
shaded by trees, and moist from the waters which trickled 
through the rocks. The whole surface of the road and the glen, 
for a few rods, was saturated with moisture oozing from the 
banks. At one side was a spring, beside which the heiress 
halted, and declared that she would have a drink before she 
proceeded further. The principal difficulty to the accomplish- 
ment of her wish was the absence of any drinking-cup. After 
a brief parley, during which the gallant Frenchman volnn- 
teered to sacrifice his hat upon the altar of her thirst, assuring 
her that it would hold water sufficiently long to give her a 
draught, and which she instantly declined.he proposed that she 
should alight, and with her joined hands scoop up enough of the 
volatile element to satisfy her thirst. This proposition meet- 
ing with more favor, he assisted her to dismount, and then 
took charge of both horses until she could gather up the train 
of her riding-habit, and make her way over the mosses to the 
spring. Daintily picking her way through the wet mosses, and 
exposing at every step a foot and ankle which drew exclama- 
tions of admiration from her only spectator, and elicited from 
her in return a peremptory hush or a laugh, she reached 
the fountain, and drew oflf lier riding-gauntlets. After sev- 
eral struggles between riding-habit and modesty she suc- 
ceeded in scooping up enough water to satisfy her. With 
an ex4.1araation of triumph she turned to retrace her stepsi 
amid the applause of her compauion, but an unlucky slip of 
Cbot upon a naosa-oovered stone precipitated her to the 


WAMWmt. 


m 

atfth, and oorered h«r s'lonlder with mnd. Mortlfled as she 
had never been in her life before, at the absurd figure she cut, 
and forced to laugh at the grimaces of the Frenchman, whs 
was striving to restrain his merriment at her catastrophe, 
and then stood a woeful picture of baffled gallantry, unable 
to help her by reason of both hands being employed in hold- 
ing the horses, she contrived to gain her equilibrium, and 
gave way to an inordinate scream of laughter, in which he 
Joined. 

“ This affair will ruin me. Captain Dumont,” she said at 
length, as he stood beside her, endeavoring with his handker- 
chief to eradicate the signs of her disaster. “ If Colonel 
Deming and Carrie see these stains, I never shall hear the 
last of it. They will declare that Warwick threw me, or, 
worse than all that, I fell off my horse. What shall I do? 
What shall Ido?” 

Do not be troubled, my beautiftil lady ; do not fear. 
No gentleman is ever at a loss when a lady is to be served. 
1 sh^l show yon what I shall do. In my country, the beau- 
tifhl lady is queen of the heart.” 

With imposing dignity of manner, and, refhsing to respond 
to her inquiries by other than the brief remark, “ Ton shall 
see what you shall see,” he aided her to remount Warwick, 
and then begged of her to wait for him “just one brief 
minute.” 

His movements were incomprehensible, and she sat in 
silent wonder at his pompous manner of procedure. He 
first secured his horse to the fence, and then, with the coun- 
tenance of a forlorn hope, marched along the road in search 
of something. What was her amazement to see this beau- 
ideal of gallantry select the worst mud-puddle in the road, 
and delilSrately fling himself into it, — rolling over and over 
until he was one sheet of mnd from head to foot. Not a 
stitch of his clothing or hat, not a line of his face, was 
allowed to escape the voluntary penance of the mud-bath. 
He rose, at len^h, the mcist forlorn and ridiculous repre- 
sentative of mud and misery, and, planting his hand upon 
his heart, bowed in the direction of the queen of his homage. 

“Now you shall escape the great ridicule. My horse 
threw mo ; you dismount to help me. Hence the mud on 
your shoulder. Mademoiselle, I am your humble servant.” 

As he stood there besmeared with mud, with one eye 
nearly covered^ and stretching out his arms in emphatic and 


116 


WAMfnCM. 


groleaque gesticulation, Miss Deiano laughed till she was 
sore. When he started towards the fence for his horse, the 
frightened steed made frantic efforts to break his bridle 
and run off. The gallant animal had never been approached 
by such a specimen of humanity before. At length the 
horse was sufficiently subdued to enable the officer to 
mount ; and away he dashed up the glen, the most astonish- 
ing spectacle, for a French officer of cavalry, that ever 
greeted American eyes. Warwick followed with his con- 
vulsed rider, who was unable for a long time to regain her 
self-control. At length she said : — 

“ Captain Dumont, you are the first gentleman in the 
world. As you are so hopelessly besmeared I shall not 
Interfere with your gallant intentions, but shall remain silent. 
People at ‘ Sublimity ’ may form their own conclusions re- 
garding our ride. But you have conferred on me a kind- 
ness which I hope to be able some day to repay.” 

The grotesque appearance of her escort was too much for 
iier ; and again her laugh echoed over the fields. 

“ Vous me faites un compliment auquel je ne sais que 
repondre,** was the gratified response of one who made light 
of so trifling a matter of gallantry. 

Captain Dumont, I beg of you not to ride into the park 
in such a plight. They will not cease laughing at you for 
a month. It really is not necessary for you to make such a 
personal sacrifice ; indeed it is not.” 

The gallant officer with dignity declined any further con- 
versation which might cause him to relent, and forget the 
self-sacrifice he owed to the fair sex. He changed the sub- 
ject at once, by the exclamation : ‘‘ Mon DieuI que le temps 
passe vite dans votre societe; ” and then went rattling along 
in his humorous way upon the absurd figure he cut, and the 
astonished looks which were cast upon the two, as they 
passed the farm-yards now lining the highway. Finally, 
after a long ride, they approached the boundaries of “ Sub- 
limity,” and galloped along its enclosure. As they passed in 
through the gate, “ Shorty,” leaning upon his crutch, shouted 
out to the porter’s lodge : — 

“ Mike I Mike 1 come out as fast as ever you kin. Miss 
Delano has floored the gentleman some place.” 

An Irish head appeared at the door, and a rich brogue 
muttered, “ Vot the divil is that? Be jabers, it’s a mud- 
toortle. Houly Moses I that bates me intirely.” lie clapped 


WAMWKOt, 


iS7 

A cap apoB his head, and ran away after them to take the 
horse from his mistress. The entire household were assem- 
bled upon the gallery and lawn. The confusion and laughter 
that ensued baffle description. The fact may, however, be 
recorded, that Miss Delano escaped completely by the enthu- 
siastic determination of her gallant. 


Promptly at the hour of eleven the dashing and raven- 
colored steeds of the heiress whirled up in front of the gal- 
lery. The Frenchman alighted from the carriage, and met 
the young ladies arrayed for their ride descending the lawn. 
They were as fair and misty, robed in their summer dresses 
of white, as the Maid of Avenel. As he handed the queenly 
and lithe owner of the carriage to her seat, and then stepped 
in after her, he recalled the lines : — 

“ And ne’er did Greoiftn chisel ir&oe 
A nymph, a naiad, or a grace, 

Of finer form, or lovelier face.” 

A cloudless sky was above them as they passed the porter's 
lodge and descended to the valley of the Kil. Following 
the protecting shadows of the banks, they reached, after a 
uime, the manufacturing village, and, driving to the Hudson, 
crossed in the semi-hourly ferry-boat to the eastern shore. 
The rays of the sun were excluded by their parasols, but for 
a mile after reaching the shore the glare was ^jpressive, and 
then lost its fervency under the trees of the deep wood which 
they entered. Making a detour from the bank of the river, 
the road led under rocky cliffs for a time, and then turned 
westward towards the Hudson, passing, within pistol-shot of 
that stream, a porter’s lodge and tall iron gate densely 
shaded by huge horse-chestnut trees planted before the Revo- 
lution. This was their entrance-gate, but an obstacle met 
them at the very threshold. The iron gate was locked, and 
no friendly porter looked out at the door of the lodge. In 
his place appeared an object which sent a thrill through the 
veins of the trio in the carriage and the coachman on the 
box. A glossy creature, black as the ebony of Mauritius, 
stole around the corner of the lodge, and with a frantic yell 
sprang against the bars of the gate, clinging to them like a 
cat. and showing his white fangs. It was a black tiger. All 
felt there was sufficient zoological information in the pai'tj 
to sfttisiy them of this frmt. Witii the instinctive glance of 




166 

self-preservation they scanned the gate and the stone vraD 
which shut in the grounds. The height and strength of both 
satisfied them there was no immediate danger. The beast 
glared at them, and the horses, terrified by his fierce aspect 
and wilder cries, commenced to plunge violently. Miss 
Delano, recovered from the first alarm of his appearance, 
directed the coachmian to drive forward a little. As the car- 
riage passed the gate, a stranger appeared beside his sable 
majesty of the jungles and peered through the bars of the 
gate. 

“ There is some one. Captain Dumont. Let us get out 
and see what all this means.” 

The officer sprang from the carriage, and assisted Miss 
Delano to alight. They turned backward to the gate aad 
beheld a strange face and stranger garb. The countenance 
was evidently Oriental. The man had a heavy beard, and 
was habited in a striped caftan of silk and cotton descend- 
ing to the ankles, with long sleeves, and belted at the waist 
by a leathern girdle, secured by clasps and worked on the 
edges in colored worsted and silk. A kerchief of white cloth, 
folded triangularly, was thrown over his head so as to fall 
down over his neck and shoulders, and was bound to his 
head by a twisted band of camehs hair. He had sandals 
made of interlaced palm-leaves and papyrus-stalks, and wore 
in his belt a poniard made of antelope’s horn sharpened at 
the end. 

As the two approached the gate the Oriental caught the 
tiger by the nape of his neck and flung him backward on to 
the grass, where he lay crouching, with his eyes glaring upon 
the intruders. Then, with a slight bow, he kissed his hand 
and laid it upon his forehead in salutation. 

“Is Mr. Montrose Earle at home?” inquired the heiress. 

The man shook his head. 

“ He resides here, — does he not ? ” 

Again the dubious shake. It was evident he did not com- 
prehend the question. 

Captain Dumont made his essay for information. 

“ Pouvez-vpus me repondre en Francais?” 

Again the doubtful shake. Then the officer pointed to 
Miss Delano, and then into the grounds. This was compre- 
hended perfectly. The man shook his head emphatically. 
There was no mistaking that dissent. The heiress tiied Ger- 
man and Italian with no better success. Then the Oriental 


WAMWICX. 


m 


walked deliberately into the lodge, and returned with a stanp 
of board painted white, and lettered in black thus ; — 

“ No Woman ^ no Bible ^ no Tracts admitted here** 

He held it up at the gate with a respectful but composed 
expression, then turned away and can-ied it back into the 
lodge. The heiress recalled the conversation at Newport, 
and, laughing heartily, communicated Mr. Earle’s difficulties 
to her companion. She then produced her card, and requested 
the officer to write Miss Deming’s name and his own up 
on it. 

“ I’m not going in where that frightful beast is ; you can 
rdy upon that,” called back the young lady from the car- 
riage. 

“ Nonsense, Cande I Mr. Earle no doubt has it under 
control. But wait for the answer.” 

The officer handed the card with the three names through 
the bars of the gate, and the Oriental, after a brief inspection 
of it, turned away into the grounds. The}'^ could see him 
walking on along the smooth, hard caiTiage-road inside until 
he reached a short pillar of white stone in the grass, upon 
which he deposited the card, and then called in a loud voice, 
“ Cyrus ! Cyrus I ” He turned immediately back towards 
the gate, and, reaching the spot wffiere the tiger lay crouching, 
put his hand caressingly upon the brute’s back and appeared 
to be talking to him. In a few seconds a large and savage- 
looking dog of the Persian breed came bounding into view, 
and, reaching the pillar, took the card in his teeth and dis- 
appeared again. The tiger made an effort to intercept him, 
but a firm grip held the black beast to the earth, and, after a 
few blows upon his head from the horn poniard, he was re- 
duced to subjection As the outsiders watched this whole 
performance in amazement they commented upon it, and then 
endeavored to penetrate further into the mysteries of the en- 
closure. They could discover nothing, however, but a grassy 
plain, bounded on the south by a dense wood with lofty hills 
beyond. The carriage-way curved out of sight before then, 
and the stone pillar w^as the only other evidence of improve- 
ment. It resembled a sun-dial. No indication of dwelling 
or garden was to be seen. 

They were perfectly shaded by the horse-chestnuts where 
they stood, and, after a few glances at the tiger and his Ori- 
ental master, which satisfied them that the beast was under 
cg^ntrol, they discussed the strange porters connected with 
IS 


170 


WAMWICX. 


the estate, and speculated upon the sights likely *0 greet 
them if they should be p('Tmitted to enter. The heiress had 
doubts upon the reception she would meet with after hei 
ingenious appropriation of the proprietor's favorite steed. 
Presently she uttered an exclamation, as a tall object stalked 
into view, passing across the greensward commanded by 
their position. It was a camel of the Arabian species, and 
of that lighter form which is bred for the saddle with a single 
rider. 

“ See, Captain Dumont ; there is a ship of the desert I 
Why, this man must be a Cuvier or a Daubenton. I am 
crazy to see the inside of his retreat. Come here, Carrie, 
and see this dromedary I ” 

At this moment a servant in livery, and, apparently, an 
Englishman, made his appearance, and in some foreign jar- 
gon addressed the Oriental, who immediately produced an 
iron collar and chain from the lodge, and securing the tiger 
dragged him out of sight. The servant then approached the 
gate and unlocked it, bowing as he threw it open, and say- 
ing, “ Mr. Earle bids me say that he feels highly honored 
by this visit, and requests you immediately to drive up to 
the house.” 

The carriage was at once wheeled about, and when the 
party had passed into the enclosure the servant locked the 
gate again, and, mounting to the box beside Mike, directed 
him where to drive. 

A fine park was instantly opened to their view, stretching 
away in sunlight and shadow, and bounded on the south by 
the woods they had caught a glimpse of before, and on the 
north by greenhouses running along the entire boundary- 
wall on that side, through whose windows, alternately open^ 
or closed, the brilliant hues of tropical flowers and fruits 
were manifest. The long stretch of conservatories seemed 
ample enough to exhibit specimen plants of a world. Far 
away to the southward deer were grazing, and nearer were 
springboks vaulting into the air. The latter were of light, 
elegant forms, smooth, slender limbs, cinnamon-colored backs, 
and white bellies. Each had a chestnut-colored band along 
the side, and the horns of the bucks were lyre-shaped. The 
snow-white hair on their rumps was distinctly visible. In 
the foreground was a long Arabian tent, made of goats' hair 
spun and woven, and beside it a spear was fixed in ths 
eiarih. 


WAstmcsc, 


iti 


**The long spear,” explained the officer, “ Indicates tha 
presence of a prince or distinguished chief among the Arabs.” 

“You have visited that nation, then, Captain Dumont?” 
said Miss Deming. 

The officer responded in the affirmative, and then pointed 
out to his companions three superb coursers of the desert 
bounding over the meadow. They bore the peculiar charac- 
teristics of Muslama, but were dark-hued, one of them black 
as the starless night. Away they flew in their wild romp, 
plunging down the gentle declivities of the park, and then 
sweeping around breast to breast in a great circle with the 
regularity of trained cavalry, only to break away again and 
pursue independent flights. 

Thus flew the flery steed immortalized by Homer : — 

" Strikes with resounding hoof the earth, and flies 
Where the wide champaign spread before him lies, 

Seeks the remembered haunts, on fire to lave 
His glowing limbs, and dash amid the wave. 

High rears his crest, and, tossing with disdain. 

Wide o’er his shoulders spreads his stream of mane. 

And fierce in beauty, graceful in his speed, 

Snufls his known fellows in the distant mead.” 

In contemplation of these wild denizens of the desert, they 
failed to observe their proximity to a narrow belt of trees 
through which their carriage rolled. They cleared this belt 
of elms and shrubbery, and instantly a scene of magniflcenco 
and wild grandeur burst upon them. 


Cj^ajiter XSX. 

Nor will it less delight th’ attentive sage 
V observe that instinct, which unerring guides 
The bmtal raoe, which mimics reason’s lore, 

And oft transoends. 

SomsYiLLK. 

Thet were entering a vast zoological garden, shaded by 
forest-trees and picturesque in masses of fallen rocks crowned 
with wild vines and mosses. From the ragged edges of a 
mountain cliff plunged a foaming cataract, and in the sides 


iii 


WAAfnm. 


of a rocky gorge recesses had been excavated and defended 
by iron bars, where passed and repassed the savage denizens 
of every desert and the striped and spotted beasts of every 
clime. The lion of Dekkan and the tiger of Bengal blended 
their fearful howls with the cries of the African leopard and 
the whine of the AmericAn panther. There prowled the long- 
lipped bear of the Terai, the jaguar of the Andes, the chee- 
tah of the Himalayas, and the gyal of Upper Assam. There 
was secured the Asiatic stag, the reindeer of Lapland, and 
the muntjak or barking deer of India. Snow-white bears 
from the Arctic, buffaloes from Hindostan, rhinoceroses from 
the country of the Anzicos, antas or wild cows from Peru, 
musk-deer from the Asiatic Cliffs, and wildebeests or wild 
bulls from South Africa were confined and classified, circling 
the entire cliff with their cages, and blending strange sounds 
in the summer noontide. On every side, amid the masses of 
fallen rocks, were dens of serpents, writhing in sport, warm- 
ing themselves in the sunlight or hissing in their rage. 
There was the brown, yellow, and blue Naja of Savary, with 
Its plaited head, large venomous fangs, and neck dilatable 
Into a disc or hood when enraged. There writhed the spec- 
tacled snake of India, with its dilated hood and rimmed, 
spectacled eyes. There were dens of coral snakes, the 
deadly reptiles of the Amazon head-waters, and nests of 
homed serpents from Egypt and North Africa. There were 
cages of American rattlesnakes, twining and gliding in net- 
work, and fearful serpents twisting their entire community 
into a pyramid for defence, with heads pointing out on every 
side. 

In one cage were coiled the enormous serpents of Ceylon, 
fifty feet in length, covered with yellow and black spotted 
scales. This species is called the Pambon Eajah, or Royal 
Serpent. In one den glided a dozen Outa snakes from Chu- 
nor, two feet in length, and perfectly white except the top of 
the head, which is shining black. It has been known to fol- 
low the destroyer of its mate three hundred miles for re- 
venge. 

One cage confined the great-eared owls of Syria, and 
another the short-eared owls of Arabia. One held the 
wolves from the gorges of Cilicia, and another storks from 
the Delta of the Nile. There were black ostriches from 
Caffraria, and gray ostriches from Asia, Sarabandi lizards, 
Nilotic lizards, and the venomous ibxibura of the Arabii 


WAXWiOK, 


173 


crocodiles from the Malayan islands, and alligators froai 
Louisiana. From the Caspian had come the Qrus Virgo, or 
Niimidian crane, which from its peculiar dancing walk thi 
French have styled “ demoiselle.” It was three feet in 
length, of a rich bluish-gray, with cheeks, throat, breast, and 
tips of long hinder feathers black. A tuft of delicate white 
plumes streamed backward from each eye. There were 
groups of Impeyan pheasants, larger than the common fowl, 
whose brilliant plumage elicited ejaculations of admiration 
as the visitors rolled by. The changing hues of violet and 
gold, blue and green, were dazzlingly beautiful. The feath- 
ers were soft and velvety, and the image of this bird start- 
lingly glorious to strangers* eyes. There were scarlet 
flamingoes from Louisiana, and white flamingoes, from the 
lake of Oroomiah, with scarlet wings ; and near to their 
prison was a network of wire enclosing land and water, and 
upon the pool was floating that rara avis, the black swan 
from New Holland, with its bright red bill (Cygnus atratus). 
Upon another artificial pool were floating or diving birds 
large as geese. They v/'ere white-throated and white- 
breasted. Their wings were spotted with brown, and their 
broad tails were rounded at the ends. Their necks were 
long and crooked, with ji^ellow bills. “ That,** said Captain 
Dumont as they passed, “ is a species of cormorant, tamed 
and used by the Chinese to fish for them. They will perch 
upon the edge of a boat until the command is given, and 
then with a short flight into the air they dive down into the 
water and bring up fish for their master. I have seen them 
nshing for their owner on the tributaries of the Burram- 
pooter. But voila ! Monsieur Earle works for the good of 
his race. This knowledge is of such vast importance to his 
countrymen. Stop a minute, driver.** 

The carriage paused that the excited man might examine 
a series of fine wire cages, filled with insects and leaves of 
plants, in which he seemed to be remarkably interested. He 
pointed out to his companions the various bugs or beetles 
which are classified under the order Coleopterm, “We call 
them in France ^ escarbot,' — you call them in English 
‘ beetles.* The German calls them ‘ kdfer,* Oh ! they are 
so useful to gardeners, farmers, fruit-raisers. They kill 
insects which ruin your beautiful fruit; they sweep away the 
caterpillar from your cabbage. Monsieur Earle will stu ly 
theido crealuies unt il he knows their habits, their food, every' 
15 * 


174 


WAMWKOt. 


thing. Then he shall write you a great book to flare yom 
gardens. In Europe the great fruit-growers colonize th« 
‘ escarbot ' upon their grounds.” 

He pointed out to them many varieties. One was the 
Cidndela sexguttata of Fabricius, a beautiful green species, 
with three white spots on each wing-cover. Others were a 
dull brown with fine greenish punctures on the wing-covers, 
which are cherished by the farmers of Lancaster county, 
Pennsylvania, for their valuable services. 

“ You must be careful, ladies, with your furs, when this 
rascal is around. He is a species of Dermestes. He will 
eat up the ladies* beautiful furs, and this one, this black and 
drab rascal, will eat up your dried meats and your fine 
books. You see it is very useful to know which one to love, 
and where you shall love him. Ah ! Monsieur Earle shall no 
doubt write you a fine book. He shall be a very useful man 
some day. Drive on now. II fait chaud” 

It was a wonderful garden. The classification indicated 
vast learning in the proprietor. Sauriology, ichthyology, 
mazology, every department of natural history, was in fact 
represented, and the eye wearied at last in variety. It 
looked as if another Bougainville had explored the globe 
with the wealth of Midas at command. 

During their drive through the winding road of the zoolog- 
ical garden an attendant had been ever at their horses* 
heads to seize the reins in the event of their being frightened 
by the howls of the beasts. He was an Arabian, but con- 
versed fluently in French and English with the occupants of 
the carriage, now checking the driver that some new sight 
might be properly enjoyed, and now alternately responding 
to the inquiries of the Frenchman and the ladies. He was 
tall and attenuated, with long face and glittering black eyes. 
He informed the visitors that he had accompanied the pro- 
prietor over the world, and aided him in securing many of 
the animals in the collection. “ Mr. Earle is the bravest 
chief in the world,** he said, proudly. “He fears not the 
devil.** This child of the desert, a native of El Bhammadj 
that fearful wilderness which lies on the Syrian frontier, was 
gayly attired for a servant and keeper of wild beasts. He 
wore Armenian bag-breeches, and red Turkisli shoes with- 
out stockings. Over his shoulders was flung a Grecian jacket, 
elaborately embroidered with gold lace. His jet-black hair 
was surmounted with a scarlet Levantine cap with long 


WAMWtCE. 


%n 


black silk tassel. He carried one of the corbashes used to 
propel laggard draught horses in Egypt, its heavy butt-end 
being a terrible weapon in the hands of so muscularly built 
a rover. An American revolver peeped out of his girdle of 
red silk. He held the lives of six lions at command in con- 
sequence of his visit to the Western hemisphere. He ran 
along before the horses^ heads until the carriage had reached 
the limit of his jurisdiction, a ledge of broken rocks heaped 
up as a barrier, and with a tall iron gate, which was opened 
by a venerable and white-haired serv^ant of the Earle family, 
who had served on the estate from childhood. The Arabian, 
laying his right hand upon his heart, said, “ Good-day to 
you I ** and ran back to his charge. The white-haired ser- 
vant only removed his hat and bowed as the carriage rolled 
past him. 

“ Miss Delano,” said the officer, “ had you not been a 
Christian, that Arab would have said to you and to all of us, 
‘ Peace be with you ; * that is to say, had we been Mahometans 
we should have received the grand courtesy.” 

“ I have heard. Captain Dumont,” was the reply, “ that in 
some Roman Catholic provinces of Germany, the Romanists 
never salute tbe Protestants by the words common among 
themselves, ‘ Jesus Christ be praised.’ ” 

“ That is true, mademoiselle, and if a Protestant should 
be addressed thus, he would not respond by the Catholic 
reply, ‘ Forever and ever. Amen.’ ” 

The carriage now rolled away through orchards of apple and 
pear trees, some bending beneath the weight of yellow and 
red fruit, and others holding their green burdens for the 
ripening suns of autumn. The Baldwin, the Early Sweet, 
the Lady Apple, the Maiden’s Blush, the Northern Spy, the 
Newtown Pippin, the Spitzenberg, the Red Astrachan, the 
Roxbury Russet, the Vandevere, the Waltz, and the Yellow 
Bough, stretched in continuous line on the right, while upon 
the left were the rows of pear-trees symmetrically planted, 
and exhibiting upon their branches the ripening Seckel, the 
Winter Nelis, the Lycurgus, the Belle Williams, the Belle 
Lucrative, the Beurr6 d’ Anjou, the Beurre Diel, the Buffum, 
the Flemish Beauty, the Duchesse d’Angouleme, the Onon- 
daga, and the Louise Bonne de Jersey. 

“ There has been some fine gardener here at an early day,” 
said Captain Dumont, pointing to the dense partitions of 
Norway fif, Austrian pine, and Scotch pine. “ See how 




m 

protect the orchards from cold winds. This makes the earij 
and perfect fruit. Very few of your fanners know the great 
art of protection. You shall learn by and by.^ 

They emerged at length from the shadows of the orchards, 
and a broad sweep of meadow opened before them, bounded 
on the ea^t by the mountain range, and on the west by the 
Hudson, smooth, tranquil, and glistening in the noontide sun. 
No evidence of dwelling, cottage, or mansion appeared. Far 
away before them the road was traced in a dingy line, as- 
cending and descending the gentle undulations of the mead- 
ow land. The fine, smooth emerald of the grass was on 
every side, and nibbling away at the verdure singly or in 
groups, or lying peacefully under the occasional trees, were 
locks of Merino sheep, Cotswold or Oxford Down, French 
Merino, Shropshire Down, Silesian Merino, Spanish Merino, 
and Ryland. The cloudless sky was above them, and far to 
the southward was a boimdary of forest, into which the road 
appeared to lead. Onward rolled the carriage through this 
peaceful scene, a striking contrast to the garden of howling 
beasts behind. At length the forest-trees loomed up close 
ahead. It was a neglected wood, carefully walled in from the 
meadow land, but allowed to manifest all the wildness and 
untrimmed luxuriance of a native growth. Between the 
giant oaks, and beeches, and yellow pine, the undergrowth 
had attained a great height, and up some of the larger 
trunks wild grape-vines curled and climbed, their leaves 
forming dense tops to the trees far above. The ivy was 
clinging to the oaks on every side, and when the English 
servant had left the box and opened the rustic gate for the 
carriage, the occupants found themselves passing under a 
gratefiil shadow, which in many places utterly excluded the 
sun. They soon crossed a large creek upon a bridge of 
unhewn oak, and then the wild grandeur of the forest soli- 
tude was revealed to them. The stream followed the road 
for a long distance, now curving around towards them as if 
it would cross their path, and then curving away again, its 
tortuous waters dark in the shadows of the wood, and occasion- 
ally dimpled by the fish rising to the surface. At long in- 
tervals it flowed over a pebbly bed, where the sun peered in 
and the ripples flashed in its light. The woods had been 
abandoned to solitude, and wild creatures were gliding in un- 
disturbed freedom on every side. The red squirrel chat* 
tei^ from the boughs of the pine, the more cautious gri^ 


WJtxmas. 


in 


tquirrel stole with noiseless leaps from fallen tree or rotting 
tmnk to the leaf-covered ground, and the gray hawk flew 
with dusky wings silently amid the wild wood. Occasionally 
the hoarse caw of the crow echoed above the tree-tops and 
the twitter of tiny birds or the hollow drumming of the 
scarlet-headed woodpecker broke the silence. Onward and 
still onward sounded the beat of the horses’ hoofs upon the 
shaded road, until it seemed as if civilization hii been 
abandoned and they were penetrating the wilds of the 
Black Forest. 

But at length a huge hall of unhewn stone, dark and gray 
in the shadows of the trees, loomed up before them, etand- 
ing in a partially cleared space. It was a tall, rectangular 
museum, lighted from above, and just beyond it appeared a 
cleared country with a venerable mansion and aitistic gar- 
dens. As the carriage rolled past the museum, over the door 
were plainly manifest, in letters of stone, the Comanche title 
“ Taai-quin-no ” and beneath it in the dialect of the 
Witchitas, “A-ra-oh.” The entrance was guarded by two 
sentinels in gray stone, one of them a Bedouin hyheer with 
a lance, and the other a Comanche chief grasping a bow of 
the tough and elastic wood of the “ bois d^arc” or Osage 
orange. One step alone was used to gain access to the 
museum. It was a large stone of black syenite basalt, 
a fac-simile of the famous “ Rosetta stone ” discovered by 
Bouchard, and upon it was lettered in brass the single word 
“ Menes” 

The visitors passed with curious eyes this solitary building, 
to inspect which was the principal object of their coming, 
and emerged upon the lawn before the mansion. The dwell- 
ing was ancient and massive, a square figure of the same 
uidiewn material as the museum, and flanked by four octago- 
nal towers of wood. The froht and south sides, which looked 
upon the river, were graced with piazzas without columns or 
roofs, broad, airy spaces for promenade, where one could catch 
different views of the Hudson through the openings in a nar- 
row belt of trees which ran along the bank. There was an 
ancient and foreign look about the building, which was jus- 
tified by the facts, for it had been erected at a very early 
period in the history of the State by a family of Huguenot 
refugees, and from them passed into the possession of the 
Earles. The servant in livery sprang to the earth, and, open* 
big the carriage-door, conducted the visitors across the front 


179 


iTjLMfmwr. 


pi&tZA into the mansion. They passed in andcr the antieik 
of an American Moose, which had been secured above the 
front door, and was a ti’ophy won by Montrose Earle in the 
forests of the Upper Ottawa. The trio were ushered from a 
broad hall into a large drawing-room elegantly furnished and 
rich in paintings, marbles, and mosaics of every land. The 
windows- looked west and south upon the Hudson, and one 
door was open into a comer tower, disclosing exotic plants 
and flowers. Folding-doors of ancient and foreign make 
screened some apartment in the rear, and above them was a 
delicate silver hand pointing to a mystical and miniature 
painting, evidently of great antiquity, with the motto in 
raised silver letters on the frame ^^Oudev AStjXou” Upon one 
wall hung a large painting of the Phoenix which once in 
five hundred years came from Arabia to the temple of the 
sun at Heliopolis. It was in form and size like the eagle, its 
wings partly of a gold and partly of a crimson color. 
Tradition recounts its bearing the dead body of its 
parent enclosed in myrrh shaped like an egg. The artist had 
delineated the gorgeous bird at the instant it hovered 
above the Egyptian temple with its burden. 

On etaghres were collected miniature copies of the heathen 
gods of every nation, and the animals held sacred in every 
clime. There was the sacred bull, Mnevis, consecrated to 
Osiris, and the Apis of Memphis ; tliere were lions and cats 
from the Temple of the Sun, and a beautifhl imitation of 
the red granite Obelisk which marks the site of the Egyptian 
Heliopolis. There were labelled fragments from the ruins 
of the Syrian Heliopolis. There were parchments written 
in Estrangelo, the most ancient writing in the Syriac books, 
and by Michaelis and Adlerus, deemed of Arabic origin. 
There were curiously fashioned pipes of the Orient ; one, a 
Persian ccUeeoon, had evidently, from the smell of the tube, 
been in recent use. The vessel in which the water was con- 
tained was jocosely marked in golden letters running round 
about it, Sizin Ahvdluz ydkhshee olmn V*Meni7rike 
ydkhshee dur** (only let your condition be prosperous, and I 
am of course very well). Upon an exquisitely carved 
marble card-case, lay a copy of the entire Koran, written 
with that fineness and distinctness, by one of the Persian 
Meerzas, which caused Sir William Jones to regret that the 
art of printing had ever been discovered. The whole was 
Cjontain^ in a manuscript six Inches wide and twenty feet 


WAKimm, 


17 $ 


long, which was rolled up and rested easily upon the card* 
case. Upon the large centre-table of the drawing-room was 
an elegantly bound Nestorian Gezza for festivals not in 
Lent, and also a copy of their Siinhddos, containing the cam 
ons of their church. The carpet that covered the floor of 
the drawing-room was manufactured by the natives of Ta* 
breez, and an elegant shawl, from the same great mart of 
Persia, was thrown over a scarlet-velvet divan. From one 
wall depended a portrait, to the waist, of a Persian of 
Azerbijdn, an athletic, manly flgure, and a countenance 
beautiful as a Georgian. This elegant figure combined the 
size of the Tartar with the gracefulness of the Persians, 
that aflable, insinuating people, who have been styled “ the 
French of Asia** Their refinement of torture was visible in 
the shape of an iron rod, upon one of the etageres, marked 
with the words of salutation, “ Guzimusta gelduz ** (upon my 
eyes you have come). The rod is used by Persian princes 
to put out the eyes of younger princes, who by sudden death 
may become heirs to the throne. Beside this relic of bar- 
barism was placed the Scytale, used by the Lacedaemonians. 
It was a simple, round stick of wood, whose perfect likeness 
was given to a departing general or admiral by the magis- 
trates. When a secret order was to be sent to the army, a 
strip of parchment was wrapped about the wood and written 
upon. It was then unrolled and despatched to the com- 
mander, who alone could understand the order, by wrapping 
the parchment upon his similar roll of wood, thereby uniting 
the broken and disjointed words. Two Egyptian mirrors 
with handles rested upon the mantel-piece. They wore hand- 
mirrors, round, 'and made of a composite of brass and copper 
highly polished, and inserted in handles of brass. They 
were found under the ruins of Thebes, and were no doubt 
similar to those carried from Egypt into the wilderness by 
the children of Israel, from which “ the laver of brass and 
the foot of it,” mentioned in Exodus, were made. One object 
particularly attracted the attention of Miss Delano and 
her friend. It was a fragment of rock cut in imitation of 
the stone seen at Susa by Ker Porter. It was covered with hi- 
eroglyphics and cuneiform inscriptions, and in one corner was 
a perfect cross of Malta. Below it was a statement, written 
by Porter, that among tlie Indians and Egyptians the cross 
often appears in their ceremonies in the shape of a plain ~j~, 
Bibd that it was gencurally symbolical of the divinity or 


m 


WAMWKM. 


eternal life, and that a cross was certainly in the temple of 
Serapis, as the Egyptian emblem of the ftitnre life. Her« 
was a startling addition to the information heretofore given 
by Montrose Earle, that the doctrine of the atonement was 
held by the Egyptians and manifested in the person of their 
god Osiris. 

Their examination of the curiosities of the drawing-room 
was interrupted by the flinging wide open of the folding 
doors, and the disclosure of a magnificent library beyond 
them. Montrose Earle advanced from the library with 
words of greeting, and, with a pleasant smile upon his usually 
serious face, said to Miss Delano : — 

“ I am pleasantly surprised by your prompt acceptance of 
my invitation.” 

“We hesitated seriously, Mr. Earle, when we discovered 
your abhorrence of woman, Bible, and tract ; but were more 
particularly discouraged by your gentle porter, the black 
tiger.” 

He laughed heartily, and then said, “ I must correct youi 
phraseology at the very threshold. Pardon me, Miss Delano, 
I have never yet seen a black tiger. The term is not correct. 
The tiger is distinctly mai'ked. He is the striped cat. 
Nature does not trifle with the lion or the tiger. The varia- 
tions of the color and shape of each are trifling. When 
you see no stripe, you see no tiger. The jaguar* of South 
America is improperly called by travellers tiger, and they 
often confound with this latter beast, jaguars, ounces, and 
cheetahs. Allow me to make another division into genus 
and species. The term woman exhibited to you at the gate 
should not have deterred you a moment. Woman is the 
genus that is an assemblage of species with common charac- 
teristics. You and Miss Deming are a species compre- 
hended under the genus woman, and I must say a very 
agreeable species, that is, ladies. There is a wide distinction 
between women and ladies. The term woman is used to 
determine the crowd; but you are presumed to know the 
distinction, and enter my ^closure as ladies.” 

“ That is to say,” was the response, “ we are admitted 
specifically, and Captain Dumont enters with the entire and 
privileged genus, man.” 

“ You have it, Miss Delano.” He looked at her earnestly 
and with evident satisfaction. Her feminine instinct in* 
formed her that the capture of Muslama was forgive, or al 


WAhWtvtr. 


lat 


lt*»i that the annoyance at his loss was modified consid- 
erably by the pleasure her society afforded him. She had a 
difficult game to play, and she exerted her powers of con- 
versation and pleasing to the utmost. 

“ Your taste, Mr. Earle, as manifested in the arrange* 
ment and scenery of your estate, is admirable. But it is 
evident that a wild vein still circulates in your organization, 
as witness the monsters and the snakes. I imagine you 
would approach nearer to the perfect man, were you to 
admit to familiarity a greater number of species under the 
genus woman.” 

“Woman, Miss Delano, is so difficult of analysis, or 
rather it requires so gi’eat part of a man’s existence to 
comprehend her, that if I were to admit a large number of 
species, I should confuse my study of her. I deem it better 
to admit few specimens, and endeavor to comprehend them 
perfectly. It is said that some women require a lifetime of 
study, and yet cannot be perfectly classified after all.” 

“ In that no doubt consists the charm. Woman is like 
religion, Mr. Earle, divest her of all mysteiy, and all rever- 
ence is destroyed. That which one can comprehend perfectly 
is no longer religion. Perfect comprehension destroys the 
ideal, and in the ideal gi-eat minds live. There is a certain 
charm in mystery, your Greek motto over the door yonder 
to the contrary notwithstanding.” 

“ You in a manner. Miss Delano, announce at once your 
decided hostility to rationalism.” 

“ Unequivocally, I do, sir. I hold firmly to that investi- 
gation of all facts, and that line of Biblical exegesis which 
exalt the nature of the Deity, point out to man an eternal 
and more exalted destiny, and make men better citizens, 
husbands, brothers, and friends. Pure rationalism tends t< 
sensuality, encourages egotism, discourages patriotism an(r 
heroism, and eventually is fatal to public and private virtue 
When I see its effects upon such gifted men as Schiller 
Goethe, Frederick Schlegel, De Wette, Schott, Paulus, and 
all the brilliant men who were swept away from truth by the 
Kantian philosophy ; when I see their spiritual and sublime 
manhood blasted by its teachings, — I am thankful that I 
worship a revealed God, and hold a positive faith, for I am 
an American woman, and long for the highest development 
of my people ; and I am persuaded that only that reason 


WARWICK. 


182 

which travels side by side with Christianity can so exali 
them.” 

Montrose Earle gazed with admiration upon her eloquent 
eyes, and her mien spiritual and authoritative as Margaret 
of Zurich, who in the nineteenth century suffered herself to 
be crucified to redeem thousands of souls. He would have 
delighted to arouse her to further defence of her position, 
but the duties of host were pressing upon him, and it was 
necessary to devote a portion of his time to his other guests. 
After a partial acquiescence in her views, he turned to her 
friend. Miss Deming, and offered his arm to conduct her out 
into his grounds, and through the mysteries of his museum. 
Miss Delano followed with her other admirer, the officer. 


ciraptft ir. 


And he spake of trees, from the oedar*tree that U in Lebanon, even ante the 
hyssop that springeth out of the wall ; he spake also of beasts, and of fowl, and 
of creeping things, and of fishes. 

1 Einqs, Chaptbr it. 


As the party entered the museum. Miss Delano inquired 
the significance of the stone sentinels, representing races so 
remote from each other. 

“ My museum,” was the response, “ is limited principally 
to the display of curiosities from those two nations. 1 have 
a few specimens or relics from ancient Assyria, but substan- 
tially this is an Indian and Arabic collection. I have lived 
so long among these two nomadic peoples, and studied so 
thoroughly their peculiarities, that I have' traced resem- 
blances which identify the two in my mind. The Arabs of 
the desert and the citizens of the prairies are both wanderers, 
having no permanent homes, and carrying their dwellings 
with them wherever they go. The physical resemblance 
between the Arabian deserts and the prairie mesas at once 
attracted my attention. Both races ai*e the most wonderful 
horsemen in the world. The principal property of the 
wanderers of the East is horses and camels, and the inhab- 
itants of the Western plains own little besides horses and 


wAsmci, 


males. A striking similarity exists in their political organi- 
zation. The Bedawoes, or Bedoains, recognize as heads of 
their tribes sheikhs^ in whose families the government is 
hereditary. But the individual who succeeds to the vacancy 
must be elected. If the ruler or chief causes dissatisfaction, 
they abandon him and choose another. The nomads of the 
New World are governed by a chief, whose office also is 
hereditary. When by folly or cowardice his influence is 
weakened they depose him and select one more competeni.. 
Both races are freebooters, and regard robbery from strangers 
as honorable employment. The laws of hospitality are 
rigidly observed by both."’ 

He was interrupted at this point by the exclamations of 
the party at the scene displayed to them by the opening 
of the inner door. The3’^ were in the presence of Arabian 
chiefs, women, and children, Indian warriors, Comanches, 
Kioways, Witchitas, Wacos, Kechies, and Quapaws, each 
standing in the dress and ornaments of the tribe. The 
wooden images had been elaborately fashioned, with features 
and complexion perfectly delineating the characteristics of 
their respective clans. For a moment they possessed all the 
reality of life, gazing with their wild eyes towards the in- 
truders, and their lances and weapons seemed on the point 
of bathing in Christian blood. It was a fearful gathering 
of armed rovers and wild savages, and at that instant a 
terrible cry echoed through the museum, chilling the thrilled 
blood. It was the warwhoop that precedes the massacre 
and the scalping-knife. So perfectly was it given by the pro- 
prietor of the place that Miss Delano started and clutched 
the arm of the French officer. Immediately all joined in 
the laugh at her expense, the gentleman to whose arm she 
had instinctively clung ejaculating, “ IPecoutez-^ous pas les 
hommesf” 

They passed on down the great hall, replete with every 
geological specimen and ornithological image that could 
vivify or illustrate the desert or the prairie. The depart- 
ments of natural history were perfect, — every beast, bird, ana 
reptile standing immovably in his stuflbd sldn, a permanent 
illustration of the science and research of their collectoi. 
The heiress involuntarily^ turned to study the face of the 
man. Was it within the range of probability^ that one so 
gifted, so admirable in his taste, so courteous, so endowed 
with leavning and self-command, had incurred the penalty 


lU 


WAMWICX, 


Cain announced as his own : “ And I shall be a fugitive AAiI 
a vagabond in the earth; and it shall come to pass, that 
ever^’^ one that findeth me shall slay me ” ? And then cam« 
to her recollection lines from the pages of IconodasU 
“ Wealth and power are the false idols of men. Better is 
the pure crystal rivulet of the mountain side, that, unsullied 
and refreshing, satisfies the thirst of the traveller, than the 
roaring torrent that moves in power, but bears upon its 
bosom the wrecks of happy homes and the stolen labor of 
humble hands. Purity often is found with humility in soli- 
tude, but in the crowded haunts of men it is a rare and 
precious pearl. But it is a true idol whose worship is 
Banctioned by Heaven.” The words of that strange book 
were ever rising upon her memory, and the glorious face of 
their author had photographed itself upon her consciousness 
fore\er. He was struggling, weary and heavy laden, along 
the highway of life, and still the more hopeless and inces- 
sant the toil the brighter beamed his faith in Grod and purity 
and right. This was the ideal man. She knew in the 
depths of her intellect that no true follower of the Nazarene 
could be indifierent to the 'Cause of the poor and the strug- 
gling. True religion looks to wealth as the instrument only 
to aid poverty, that poverty which suffers for bread and 
which chains the intellect that would labor for truth. She 
turned then with increased vigor to the study of this 
coryphaeus of elegant irreligion and aimless science. The 
discrimination of her character could not be blinded by his 
accomplishments, nor her senses dazzled by the luxury and 
display that attested his wealth and taste. Her suspicions 
whispered of Crime, and she watched every movement of th( 
man and every object in his recluse sanctuary with the ear- 
nestness of virtue and the quiet composure of tact. 

At length her watchfulness was rewarded by a spark of 
light After a prolonged and entertaining examination 
of the cabinets, enlivened by the brilliant explanations of 
the owner, the party naturally enough became scattered, each 
one pursuing investigations in the various departments. 
Montrose Earle was busily engaged in conversation with 
the French officer, and Miss Delano wandered off to a library 
of Arabic books and rare tomes from the countries of the 
Orient. Opening one of the glass doors, she took down a 
•mall volume, whose contents she was no more able to 


WAMWK^ 


m 


cipher than she was the emblem of the Deity in the paUee 
Nimroud. Upon the fly-leaf was written in ink : — 

“ I send you this, hoping your more extensive acquire* 
ments will enable you to comprehend it. To me it is only 
a procession of crows, fish-hooks, and negroes. 

“ Yours, J. H. N.*' 

That mysterious being again! Who could he be? She 
pored over that fragment with terrible earnestness, — every 
word, every letter, stamping itself upon her consciousness, 
never to be eradicated. It was assuredly the same writing 
as that in the note appointing the interview in the rooms of 
Earle. She could not mistake that formation of the letters. 
It was a novel form of handwriting, chaining the memory 
from its peculiarities. But she had seen it a third time. 
Where? Up and down the vistas of the Past flew her 
thoughts. She pressed the handle of her parasol between 
her eyebrows and closed her eyes in study. The peculiari- 
ties of handwriting passed and repassed before her mental 
vision. Was it the same as in any note that had reached 
her from her many admirers or suitors for her hand ? No ! 
That question was quickly decided. It came to her at last. 
There could be no doubt ; St. Luke’s ! The “ Christian Year.” 
Bdbert Melville ! The handwriting was the same. Could 
the missing relative of Lord Carnochan be J. H. N» 9 Might 
not *7. H. have written Melville’s name for him at some 
time in that “ Christian Year ” ? That fact was possible, 
not nrobable. The donor generally writes the donee’s name 
in alX)ok, or the donee writes it himself. If J. H. N. and 
Bobert Melville were the same person, and Melville had 
been secretly made way with, what was the “ Chrt^ian Year ” 
doing in the possession of Constant Earle ? In the event 
of a murder being made out, what would be the legal inter- 
pretation of this possession? Would not suspicion fall upon 
the younger brother? The mental reply came; “No more 
justly than upon Montrose Earle, for he held both book and 
letter, the latter found in his own apartments and mention- 
ing a midnight interview, probably identical with the night 
»f the murder-cry.” Constant’s position was much the safer 
of the two. Was it? He held a book that manifestly was 
not a gift to him. Montrose Earle’s possession of a book 
WAS evidently legal. J. H. N. had presented it to him. But 


wAMwmat. 


m 

that Bingle fact, the possession of the “ Christian Year,* 
was the only possible cause of suspicion against Constant 
Earle. The accumulation of facts pointed to his brother, 
provided J. H. N. and Robert Melville were identical 
What should be her next step? Should she inform Lord 
Carnochan of the similarity of the handwriting? Undoubt- 
edly ; but a preliminary move was requisite. She might 
never gain access to the museum again. The book might be 
removed. She would call in another witness to the fact of 
the existence of the volume and the peculiarity of the hand- 
writing. She called to Miss Deming, who was amusing 
herself in the inspection of a case of vases of glazed green 
pottery, copper mirrors, and copper spoons, ornaments of 
agate, cornelian, and amethyst, found in an Assyrian tomb 
In the mound near Mosul. When her friend came to the 
library she exhibited to her the curious hieroglyphics in the 
book, and called her attention particularly to a representa- 
tion of a human figure with the head and wings of an eagle, 
having three daggers in his belt. Having fixed the memory 
of that particular book in her friend’s mind, she remarked 
upon the peculiarity of the English handwriting on the fly- 
leaf. They both concurred in the anomalous character of 
the chirography. After a further inspection of the library, 
she passed down the museum, and the proprietor advanced 
with a smile to meet her. She looked him directly in the 
eyes as she asked abruptly, “ Did yon ever know Robert 
Melville, an English gentleman ? ” 

Not a passing twinge of conscience ruflled the bland 
countenance of the man. He was neither startled nor 
thrilled by the utterance of that name. With the same 
serene aflability of manner tliat charactwized him ever in 
her presence, he answered : — 

No. I never heard the name. Was his name suggested 
by anything in my museum ? 

She was amazed. Was it just or generous to continue 
suspicious of a gentleman so composed in the utterance of a 
name which had gone out in blood? He possessed every 
external evidence of innocence. She was bafl3.ed. She 
turned awa}^ to a cabinet of minerals, remarking, “ He was a 
traveller, not of any repute that I am aware of. I thought 
possibly you might have met him. But tell me, Mr. Earle, 
where did you find this yellowish-gray sandstone, with fossil 
feroa?” 


WAMWIOK, 


181 


He followed her to the case, aad, inspecting it, said : — 

“ You will find everything labelled. See ! it is from the 
Brazos River. The fossil ferns in this formation belong ta 
‘ the carboniferous era.’ ” 

“ It is marvellous to me, Mr. Earle, how you can burden 
your memory with so many facts in every department of sci- 
ence and never have that mental draught-horse shirk his 
load. I have never known your memory fail to honor all 
drafts drawn upon it.” 

“ The memory. Miss Delano, is susceptible of the highest 
cultivation, and in a healthy condition of the physical sys- 
tem an ordinary power of memoiy may be taught wonderful 
retentiveness. As the mariner by the constant exercise of the 
organ of vision can discover objects at twice the distance that 
you or I can, so one whose occupation requires retentiveness 
of various facts will greatly surpass ordinary observers. I 
consider one of the principal objects of early education to be 
the training of the memory. The bent of the moral twig of 
youth determines the inclination of the manly tree, to vary 
the common proverb, and so the extent of training given to 
the youthful memory determines the capacity of the adult 
mind to retain facts. Of course there are exceptions. The 
memories of some people are like the buckets of the daugh- 
ters of Danaus ; they retain not one drop.” 

“ I would like to present a draft upon your theological 
memoiy, if you have turned your attention at any time to 
this particular department.” 

“Try me. Miss Delano. I am not expected to know every- 
thing. Indeed, I feel very much in the dissatisfied condi- 
tion of Faust. Age creeps rapidly on, and I know nothing 
yet.” 

“ Be careful not to commit his error, and in your discon- 
tent sell your soul to Hades.” 

She laughed with him, and then continued : — 

“ You are aware, to some extent, of the difficulty under 
which churchmen are laboring at present in this country and 
England.” 

“ I know all churches are always laboring under some dif- 
ficulty. I realize fully that Christ announced his mission to 
be the distribution of swords, and not ploughshares.” 

“ I do not wish you to speak irreverently to me.” 

“ Certainly not,” was the response ; “ I only paraphrase ths 
original.” 


168 


niTA^fncr. 


“ I would like you to give me your idea of the exiateno# 
of an apostolic church in Britain.” 

“ I do not believe it at all, Miss Delano. It is unsup- 
ported by proof. The claim is based upon the fanciful inter 
pretation of doubtful passages in ancient writers. It cannot 
stand at all according to the usual tests of historical verifica 
tion.” 

“ What do you deduce from your theological studies as 
to the origin of the first^British church ? When do records 
first announce it?” 

“ Beda, the Anglo-Saxon, in his writings, informs us that 
in the reign of Aurelius, when Eleutherius was Pope, between 
the years 177 and 181, King Lucius, the extent of whose 
jurisdiction in Britain is not stated, sent messengers to the 
Bishop of Rome requesting that he might be enrolled among 
Christians. The Pope sent missionaries, who baptized Lucius 
and preached the gospel. The chroniclers of that country 
give the names of those missionaries as Elvan, Fagan, Med- 
win, and Damian. Rees states that near Landaff were four 
churches, named Llearwg, or Lucius, Dyfan, Ffagan, and 
Medwy No one knows when they were founded, but their 
existence seems to add plausibility to the statement that Lu- 
cius reigned in that vicinity. The whole story of Beda is 
doubtful ; for at the distance of five centuries he wrote, and 
who knows his authorities ? Corroboration of his statement 
appears to exist, from the fact that after the time of the bap- 
tism of Lucius continental writers commence to enumerate 
Britain among Christian nations.” 

“ But, IVIr. JEarle, history has given us the names of two 
British Christians in the first century, Claudia and PomponU 
Greecina.” 

“ Very true. The Scripture tells us that Claudia, wife of 
Pudens, at Rome, was a Christian. Martial states that 
Claudia was a Briton ; that is to say, a Claudia who was the 
wife of the Senator Pudens. It is a coincidence, and the 
inference is likely to be true. Grascina, however, is conjec- 
tured to have been a Briton because her husband had been 
Governor of Britain, and because she was charged with hav- 
ing practised a foreign superstition. This, ail admitted, 
proves nothing as to the establishment of a church there ; 
for these women lived in Rome, and may have become Chris- 
tians there.” 

But the Roman power gained a firm footing in 


WAMmCSL, 


m 


Ad early as the year 43, and among the influx of strangers 
there might have been Christians. There must have been.* 
“ That is not the correct way of writing history, Miss 
Delano. There might not have been also ; and, while there 
is a possibility of this negative, you cannot make history. 
There might have been Christian arrivals, and yet no church 
have been established, no clergyman, no house of worship.” 

“ Very well ; go on,” she said. “ What comes after Be- 
da's statement?” 

“ History takes a leap of more than one hundred years 
then, and states simply that the Christians throughout the 
land were given up to the Pagan priests, during the persecu- 
tions of the Emperors Diocletian and Maximian, in the be- 
ginning of the fourth century. They were driven to caverns 
and the wilderness and perished of want and suffering ; the 
churches were razed to the earth. Three names only are 
preserv^ed, Julius, Aaron, and Alban of Verulam.” 

“ Ah ! yes, I have heard of him. Our St. Alban's in New 
York City is named in his honor.” 

“ Exactly. Your little church, which is creating such a 
hubbub there, revives the memory of him, who is styled by 
natives and foreigners ‘ The Proto-martyr of Britain.' ” 

“ Go on. Enlighten me about that saint.” 

“ Gildas and Beda state that he was a citizen of Verulam, 
sheltered a Christian priest hunted for his life, listened to 
his teachings, and when the retreat of the priest was discov- 
ered, in order to save him, donned his vestments and rushed 
out to meet the soldiers. He declared himself a Christian, 
refused to sacrifice to the gods, and was scourged and be- 
headed on a small hill outside the walls, in the year 305. A 
church was erected over his body long after, which was de- 
•troyed by the pagan Saxons, and the ruins were visited by 
pilgrims to obtain miraculous cures throug:h his intercession. 
Later authorities state that King Ofia built there the mag- 
nificent abbey of St. Alban’s in 793.” 

“ In what age did Gildas write, Mr. Earle ? ” 

“ He was a Briton, and wrote in 550. The Anglican church 
obtained peace upon the accession of Constantine to the em- 
pire in 313. The British bishops were represented in the 
councils of Arles in 314 Sardica in 347, and Rimini in 359. 
Celestine, Bishop of Rome, to oppose the heresy of Pelagius, 
gent Germanus of Auxerre in his name to Britain, to preach 
•gainst it. The triumph of Orthodoxy was complete, and 


WAS^mtK. 


m 

Germanus, before be left the island, visited the tomb of St 
Alban, and deposited there a box of relics brought from G.9^1, 
and took a handful of dust from the grave of that saint t<j 
place in a new church at Auxerre which he dedicated to St. 
Alban. Beda makes this statement. Your little church in 
New York, Miss Delano, has a vei:itabLe saint for its patron. 
Germanus was sent a second time, and with him Severus of 
Treves, and the teachers of Pelagianism, who were con 
demned to banishment, left the island in the custody of Ger« 
manus. Erric, Beda, and Constantins are the authorities foi 
these statements. This is substantially all the information 
that can be gleaned of the Anglican church during the first 
five centuries. This imperfect knowledge does not come 
from national and authentic documents, so says Gildas ; for 
there are no such in existence. Passing allusions in the 
works of foreign historians are all that remain. But we have 
the fact that the Anglican bishops sat in the general councils 
abroad. The presumption, therefore, is, they held a common 
faith with the rest of the Christian world. Gildas, a native, 
informs us of what was believed in his own times, 550, — the 
doctrine of the Trinity ; the redemption by Christ ; that the 
hierarchy were bishops, priests, and other ministers ; that the 
hands of the bishops and priests were anointed and blessed ; 
that they were the successors of St. Peter ; that they occupied 
his seat, and could bind and unloose like him ; that it was 
their duty to offer sacrifice, and ‘ to stretch out their hands 
at the most holy sacrifices of Christ ; * that the Britons had 
monasteries, under abbots, whose monks made vows of obe- 
dience, poverty, and chastity ; that widows made vows of con- 
tinence ; that churches built in honor of the martyrs had sev- 
eral altars for heavenly sacrifices in each ; that the service 
was chanted by the clerg}’^, and oaths of peace and forgive- 
ness were made on the altars ; that the church service was 
performed in the Latin language, and that the clergy were 
celibates by the third canon of the Council of Nice.” 

“ And this was all held by the Britons, Mr. Earle, before 
the Saxon conquest established the worship of Woden?” 

“ Unquestionably. Refer carefully at any time to the au- 
thorities I have named for these facts. The true rule is first 
to know who the historians of a couT'^’*y were in the earliest 
times, and then to read them yourself. Then you ascertain 
facts. History is often falsified for political and sectarian 
^irposes ; therefore read the earliest historians when you 


iTAMmtm, 


Xf\ 

oan, and draw your own deductions. We should have a quee? 
time with geology if we admitted the speculations of everj 
writer upon it. We want to see the rocks ourselves, and a 
great many rocks at that. Take statements upon trust when 
you cannot help it, but shove past statements when the real 
thing is accessible.” 

“ Have you ever discovered in your readings any account 
of the manner of constructing the early churches of En^ 
land?” 

“ The accounts in the writings of the Anglo-Saxon writers,” 
was the reply, “ are very meagre. The Scots built of split 
oak roofed with reeds. A specimen of this style remained 
lately in the church of Greenstead in Essex. The trunks of 
oak trees were sawed down the middle for the church walls ; 
tile halves were cut away at the bottom into a tenon, and 
were inserted in a groove cut in a horizontal timber, which 
answered for the base sustainment. Another horizontal tim- 
ber, grooved like the first, received by way of entablature the 
tops of the trunks. The trunks stood with their sawed faces 
inward and one inch apart. At the gable ends the trunks 
rose gradually pedimentwise to fourteen feet in height. Beda 
informs us that the wind and rain were excluded by plastering 
them with mortar made of clay, earth, and moss. Eadbert, 
Bishop of Lindisfarne, removed the reeds from the church 
built by the Bishop Finan, and covered roof and walls with 
sheet lead. The Roman missionaries introduced the Roman 
fashion of stone churches. The churches noticed by the most 
ancient Saxon writers were square or quadrilateral. The 
earliest cruciform church is mentioned by Ethelwold, who 
wrote about the year 810. The organ was in use among the 
Anglo-Saxons shortly after their conversion. It is certain 
they were known to St. Aldhelm at the end of the seventh 
century, for he refers to them in the poem, ‘ De Laudibus Vir* 
ginitatis.’ 

** * Maxima Millenia aosonltans organa flakria 
Moloeat anditnm yentoeia follibos iste, 

Qaamrii aoratis folgesoant cetera capsia.' ” 

Their conversation was interrupted at this point by the 
appearance of Miss Doming and the officer, who had been 
roving about the museum together, and had arrived at the 
conclusion that it was time to bring their visit to an end. 

What has become of your favorite servant, Saad ? ” 


m 


WAMwrcm, 


quired the Frenchman. “ I have looked m vain for that wor 
thy every place. Is he absent ? ** 

“ Yes ; I have entrusted him with a mission to his native 
land. He may return to me within the year. He is almost 
indispensable to me in my zoological department, and indeed 
In everything. But I wanted some things for ‘ Silvicola,' 
and he was the only one I could rely upon in the matter.” 

“ I remember him very well,” said the officer. “ He ac- 
companied us through Persia, and fought gallantly against 
that thieving band of Koords who sought to plunder us. He , 
is a faithful man. Monsieur Earle.” 

“ He is my feraj-bashe, as they say in Persia,” was the 
response. " I can always leave everything under his charge.” 

“ We are much indebted to you for your courtesy, Mr. 
Earle,” said Miss Delano. “ We must return now to ‘ Sub- 
limity,' where we should be happy to receive a call from 
you. ‘ Silvicola ’ is a marvel for this land, and we shall ever 
cherish pleasant memories of this visit.” 

When the party had at length regained their seats in the 
carriage, and were rolling away through the spacious park, 
the heiress endeavored to analyze the feelings Montrose 
Earle had excited in her mind. Again had her instinct been 
utterly at fault. No indication of guilt lurked about this 
singularly gifted being. It was manifest he never had seen 
such a person as Robert Melville. Under her startling in- 
terrogatory he had evidenced calmness too natural to admit 
of further suspicion, Either he was innocent of crime or 
J. H. N. was a different person from Melville. Again reason 
whispered of suspending her cruel verdict. Perhaps at the 
hour of the murder-cry the owner of that dwelling was far 
away. Give the suspected the benefit of the doubt, whis- 
pered charity. But a woman's suspicion once aroused is as 
firm and constant as her love once engaged. It requirei 
^clopean powers to eradicate ei'^bfor. 


rjjrintar. 


m 


Cfeaptfr XXl. 

Vtr ttm dMh kMp eoaU of An mpea hU head, and th« Lord /ball tmxA 

Ikm. 

PaOTSEBS MT. 

A oounTRT church-yard, shaded by evergreens and weeping 
willows, was deserted one evening early in the autumn. It 
was Sunday, and through the open windows of the chapel 
close at hand the murmur of voices engaged in the evenmg 
service came distinctly over the graves where slumbered the 
fHends and relatives of the worshippers. It was a pleasant 
and familiar haunt, this cleanly and shaded cemetery, 
to many of the congregation who were wont on the af- 
ternoons of Sundays to wander here with their familiars, or 
to retire to quiet shadows in the more remote portions of the 
grounds and meditate upon the departed, or study the books 
of religious meditation which the zealous pastor was evei 
distributing among his flock. The chapel was small, but 
exquisitely tasteful in its Gothic style, with climbing vines 
wreathing the arched windows, or clustering in dense masses 
of green upon the sides of the square tower. It had been 
erected especially for the afliuent families of the adjacent 
country, whose residence away from the city extended 
only to three or four months of the warm season ; but a 
sufficient rural congregation gathered there for worship 
during the winter months to justify its being open the entire 
year. 

The day for the more elegant portion of this flock to 
return to the metropolis had not yet arrived, and the chapel 
was thronged upon this autumnal evening in consequence of 
the announcement that the bishop of the diocese would 
preach. It was singular, then, that one, evidently a church- 
man, from the book under his arm, should loiter so late under 
the trees of the cemetery after the sounds from the chapel 
had announced the opening of the evening service Farther 
and farther progressed the solemnities of worship, and still 
he manifested no disposition to cease his meditation and 
enter the church, but lingered on in sadness and silence 
beside a large enclosure whose tasteful hedge and elegant 
BKmoments Indicated Uie graves of an affiueut family. Hq 


m 


W^AUmCK. 


WM leaning over the hedge, and studying the inscriptiona 
upon the marbles, and at times expressions of intense agony 
would cross his fair face, and then he would start at the 
sounds issuing from the chapel windows as if duty was call- 
ing him away from the indulgence of his grief. 

At length, as if his final resolution was taken, he cleared 
the hedge at a single leap, and seating himself upon the step 
of a monument which bore the name, “ Gertrude Earle,” he 
opened his prayer-book, and soon detecting by the familial 
sounds in the chapel the place for him to begin, endeavored 
to follow the service. But the anguish was too intense 
Every sound from the sacred edifice recalled the sleeper 
under the monument, and he bowed his head at length upon 
the closed book, and moaned in agony of spirit. One voice 
so sweet and earnest in the responses was silent forever ; 
one heart warm in the service of God was still ; one face so 
eloquent at the hour of prayer was frozen in death. There 
beneath him mouldered therdust of one who in every relation 
of life honored God. She first had clasped his infant hands 
and raised them to heaven ; she first taught him that sweet- 
est of all names, which comes like solemn music to the des- 
olate and weary heart. Ah, had that precious sleeper never 
instructed him in the faith, how many times would he have fal- 
tered and gone down in the midst of his agony I She had saved 
him from the wine-cup, from self-destruction, from dishonor. 
When the fiend of the outcast and the struggling had whispered 
to him of ease and peace, the sweet eyes of that mother had 
beamed before him in their purity, and tnat sweetest of all 
human voices had returned to him in the favorite hymn, “ I 
shall be satisfied there.” He had clung to that memory in 
the trial hours, and it had saved him. No recollections of 
father, brother, sister, or friend would have been adequate iii 
the intensity of his anguish. Born to suffer and to enjoy 
intensely, far beyond the capacities of his race, he had de- 
scended to the fearful depths of mental suffering whose hor- 
rors are known only to the chosen few, and there a soft, 
kind hand had touched him, and a well-known murmur of gen- 
tleness had spoken those thrilling, loving words, “My poor, 
dear boy 1 ” He had arisen and foDowed that touch and that 
gentle voice, and they led him to the foot of the cross. Pan- 
oplied in the armor of her memory he had conquered the 
foul fiend. At the trial hour he recalled the last sad part- 
ing, the pale, thin fstoe of the dying mother, and the prosusaa 


m 


WAMwmm, 

kf MAde to follow her into the pure pretence of God, 
He could not trample upon that memory, that sweet face ; 
and Gk)d had aided him. That appreciation of the beaitifhi 
and the holy, which was his birthright, had idealized the face 
of his mother. Her face must be the face of every angel 
and pure spirit, and he could not by sin forever sever himself 
from the enjoyment of such presences and such ideals of 
beauty. When the brain had grown weary and then given 
out ; when the red sheets had fallen before liis overtaxed 
eyes ; when the nerves had commenced their diversified tor- 
ture, and the fearful sense of loneliness and desertion had 
come on to overwhelm him, he had turned to that sacred 
memory, and that memory led him to God, and there by the 
holy and precious promise is ever found rest for the weary 
and heavy-laden. The Eternal had not deserted him. He 
had been purified by suffering, but strength to endure had 
been given him, and he realized at times that purification 
through anguish. He knew at times that his intellect was 
clearer, more powerful, and, though the future was gloomy 
enough, he realized that he had shaken off earth- weights. 
His ideal was more exalted. He was conscious that he had 
approached nearer to the character of his lost mother. He 
could endure more patiently ; and this is progress. He could 
sacrifice more of self ; and this is Christ-like. He could now 
look at intervals with calmness upon the proposition, “ I 
may win high heaven if I cannot win high honor on its 
footstool.” 

He had risen again from every depressing fall of spirits 
by the consciousness that his mother’s eyes watched him from 
|)eside the throne of God ; that the All-Powerful regarded 
him in pity, and that some day Heaven would reward his 
arduous struggles in this life, or beyond the gi*ave compen- 
sate him for his stem and unyielding pursuit of duty. He 
had passed the morning of this holy day in the chapel. 
Where once he had occupieil a seat of honor and of pros- 
perity with the loved and the lost, he quietly stole into a 
remote pew, hoping to be unseen and unlmown. He had re- 
turned again for the evening service ; for well he knew that 
often was sung, at that hour, a hymn composed by his 
mother. She had ever been the benefactress of that chapei ; 
and her memory was like a whisper of far-off holy music to 
the worshippers. But, when the recoHection of that hymn, 
and tbe possibility of its lieing sung at that evening service, 


m 


WABWZCM, 


came to Liir »o touchingly, as he stood before tl e Gkithlc eH* 
trance, he feared the loss of his self-control, and wandered 
away to her grave to conceal his emotion. There had he 
lingered until it was too late to enter the church ; and beside 
her grave he had vowed anew the consecration of his aims 
and objects in life to the honor of God. He whispered 
again, in his loneliness and his grief, his promises to live 
^worthy of that memory, and to forbear all malice and envy, 
and to suffer and struggle x>atieutly unto the end. 

Tn the midst of his holy resolves the trial came. The 
bushes behind him shook violently. They parted, and a 
short, muscular man stood confronting him. For the first 
time in a year the brothers stood face to face. Constant 
Earle rose at once, and, with the exclamation “Brother!” 
offered his hand over the hedge. It was silently refused. 
Montrose Earle stood gazing at him for a moment with a 
stern, vindictive look. Then he spoke : “ There never can 
be terms between us until you comply with my request. 
Will 3’ou, or will you not, give me the picture ? ” 

As he spoke he glanced over the figure of his brother from 
head to foot. He saw the marks of his struggle with pov- 
erty plainly enough. That magnificent frame which rose 
above his own in the perfect glory of manhood, and the re- 
fined elegance and grace of the gentleman, was poorly clad, 
neatly ; that was all. His eye kindled with triumph at the 
sight. Constant must be amply humiliated and tamed by 
this time to submit to any terms with wealth and influence. 
The younger brother responded calmly and with admirable 
self-control, fixing his large, eloquent, blue eye upon his 
senior : — 

“I am neither too proud nor too cold, Montrose, to be 
reasonable. For my only brother I would do almost any- 
thing for the sake of her who sleeps here. But I cannot yield 
up to you her picture. She gave it to me, and desired me to 
preserve it forever in memory of her. That I shall do, by 
the help of God. I will serve you in any other way ; but I 
have told you over and over again that I cannot relinquish 
that into your hands. You have everything, and every other 
picture of our mother except that. Why do you insist upon 
taking that from me ? ” 

“ Because it is of incalculable benefit to me, as I have told 
you over and over again. I do not choose to specify why. 
There is ample reason why I shoi ld not. Give me tl\« 


irjjtwttat. 


HI 


picttire, and I will place you directly in independent circum' 
stances. You must be a madman to refuse any longer. 
Give it to me, and trust my word for the rest.” 

“ 1 cannot part with it. It is a sacred trust.” The reply 
was calm, but firm. It admitted no opportunity for farther 
parley. 

“ Come out of that lot, then,” was the fierce reply. 

“ By what right do you make- such a demand? ” 

“ By the right of ownership. That lot was the property 
of my father, and by his will he gave it to me. Come out of 
it at once, or I shall take measures to put you out.” 

“ And would you tear me from the grave of my mother? ” 

“Yes. That is the poetical way of expressing ejectment. 
Come out.” 

Constant Earle stood an instant in reflection. Physically 
speaking, it was no easy matter to dispossess him of his posi- 
tion. He knew his own muscular superiority. The outrage 
of the demand was uppermost in his mind. It was possibly 
legal. It was certainly atrocious ; in fact, without necessity 
and without excuse. The Earle blood within him bade him 
resist. The promptings of Christianity whispered of peace. 
He stood an instant longer in indecision. The brother who 
had faced the wounded lion of Africa was not one to be 
intimidated by manifestation of superior muscle. True, 
genuine pluck never pauses at such obstacles. He shot out 
a teiTible blow, in aid of his demand, with his right arm, 
which struck Constant in the face, causing him to reel back- 
ward. In an instant the insult^ cleared the hedge, and, 
with a wild gleam of the eyes, confronted the insulter. The 
blood mounted to his face, and chastisement was plainly 
written there. The lion of a dozen gymnasiums had been 
struck, and Montrose Earle knew it. Hark I A swell of the 
distant organ broke over the silence; it rose louder and 
sweeter upon the air, and the human voices joining wafted 
the song heavenward. It was the mother’s hymn. They 
had remembered the lovely and the gentle who had flown to 
the bosom of her Lord and Master ; and, worshipping upon 
earth, their song was carried to her in heaven. Ah I Heaven, 
Peace, Rest, Home : the Home of the pure, the gentle, the 
holy, the forgiving. The wing of his angel-mother brushed 
his burning, heated cheek. His clinched hand relaxed, hie 
eye softened, and whispering, with trembling lips, “ I for^ve 
you,” he turned away to conceal his emotion. With a bitteg 


198 


WdMWWa 


sneer, and tfee epithet “ coward ” upon bis lips, Montrose tufliet 
and walked away. But louder and sweeter and holier chimed 
the notes of the organ floating upwards to that city whose 
gates are pearls, and “ shall not be shut at all by day, foi 
there shall be no night there.” No doubt, as the accents of 
praise were wafted through those portals, there stole in with 
them the whispered words of forgiveness as a sweet and 
touching memorial before the throne of God. 

The man, softened to the gentleness of childhood by a moth- 
er's memory and the thought of heaven, passed slowly out to 
the highway by a side gate ; but the master of “ Silvicola ” 
left by the public entrance near the church door. Two 
splendid steeds awaited his coming ; but he manifested no 
anxiety to unloose them, and stood patting their silken coats 
and admiring their admirable points for many minutes. Ele- 
gant equipages of various styles were waiting near the 
church door. The gentry of the surrounding country were 
represented, and many a family coach or polished “ Clarence ” 
was reflecting the country sun, which knew the windings of 
“ Central Park,” or the rocky pavement of Fifth Avenue. At 
intervals in the service pealed out the notes of the organ, 
and then all was still. Then came a shuffling of many feet, 
the opening of doors, and the fluttering forth of ribbons and 
silks and muslins, till the lawn before the church was alive 
with the faces of the beautiful, the aged, and the young. A 
white-robed sylph glided forth and was immediately joined 
by a feeble, but elegant lady, who leaned upon her arm and 
entered her carriage jwith her. Two others occupied the 
front scat, and the vehicle whirled away. It was Miss Del- 
ano and her guests. Her familiar, Miss Doming, was lifted 
iio her seat in a glistening buggy by the strong arm of the 
master of “ Silvicola,” and flew away after two dark-coated 
Arabians. Their owner had promised to drive her from the 
church across the river to “ Sublimity.” 

The owner of the black steeds with the frontal mark of a 
white star was far ahead. The sun had dropped suddenly 
behind the western hills, and the protecting parasols were 
dropped also. Miss Delano was commenting upon the 
bishop’s discourse in response to the remarks of Mrs, Dem- 
ing, when she was startled by sudden cries from the occu- 
pants of the vehicle just behind her. She turned quickly, 
and a cry of distress escaped her lips. The master of “ SiU 
rioola ” had lost control of his horses, and they were run'ii^g 


wjjtmcx. 


m 


away with him and her friend Carrie. They plunged fran 
tically alongside her carriage, dashed j\to her horses, and 
flung them to one side of the highway, and then madly 
dashed along, tearing and scattering whatever crossed their 
path. One glimpse informed her that the reins were broken, 
and that her friend was deathly pale, and both were lost. 
They were gone in an instant, and ruin marked their flight. 
Away on to the northward a dense, whirling cloud of dust 
marked their career, but a sudden turn would soon fling 
them lifeless to the earth. They had evidently reached the 
densely populated portion of the village, when a sudden cry 
was heard, and then a cheer wildly rang out upon the air. 
What could that mean? The black steeds were put to their 
speed, and they hurried on to the midst of the confusion and 
the cheering. They entered the excited crowd, and heard 
the joyful cry, ‘^‘They are saved — all right — they are 
saved I ” They reached at last the shattered vehicle, and 
found Miss Deming beside it on her feet, and the owner also 
unhurt. When the ungovernable and frantic steeds were 
just sweeping around to an embankment upon the river’s 
edge, a young man had recklessly bounded to their side, 
flung himself upon their backs with the agility of an acrobat, 
and, climbing to their heads, had caught them by their bro- 
ken reins, and clung and swung there, with his entire weight 
upon their jaws, till they paused abruptly, and then com- 
menced plunging frantically to rid themselves of him. 
Others then found courage to run to his assistance, and they 
were secured. It was quickly and nobly done ; and then, 
with a bow to the occupants of the shattered vehicle, he had 
walked away hatless and hurriedly. Miss Deming, as she 
clung about her friend’s neck in excitement, exclaimed, “ It 
was that gentleman from St. Luke’s Hospital that saved us. 
He would not stop, but hurried away. O May, he clung 
to those horses like a tiger! He saved our lives, and he is 
the bravest man living. Is he not, Mr. Earle ? ” 

The heiress turned to the person appealed to, and found 
him standing kike one bewildered, but he answered slowly, 
“ It was the mcAt perfect heroism I ever witnessed, quickly 
conceived, and executed like lightning. We were close on 
death.” He turned away to look after his horses. He was 
too brave himself not to acknowledge the heroism of an- 
other, even though that other was his insulted and outcast 
brother. He watched a favorable moment, when all wert 


£00 


WARWICK, 


engaged in animated conversation over the escape, and 
beckoning to a well-known acquaintance in the crowd, took 
him aside and whispered, “ Did you notice that man wha 
saved us ? ” 

I did, and noticed that he walked away very rapidly.” 

“ Would you be likely to recognize his face again?” 

“ I seldom forget a face that has once attracted my notice. 
I never could forget his face. He was a splendid-looking 
fellow.” 

He cannot have gone far yet. Find him if you can, 
and ascertain his residence. I must know where he lives. 
Do not take your eyes off that man until you track him to 
some home, even if you have to follow him to New York, 
I will compensate you for ever|' expense and trouble yon 
may be at.” 

“ All right, Mr. Earle. I will £ itend to it, and write you 
here, or return from the city I am on a trail now 

of a defaulter.” 

“Very well. You had betters How now, as he turned 
down that street.” 

“Oh, I saw him, sir. I wfc^ that comer when he 
passed. He went a little way of the crowd and then 
commenced spitting blood. I fe ^>: 'S was hurt, and no won- 
der.” 

“ Ah 1 take this money then, ? ^ make some excuse for 
helping him if he needs a physki But follow him up to 
his home, and report to me. If y ; fan track him, it will be 
one of the most profitable jobs v j aver undertook for any 
man. You know me.” 

“All right, sir;” and the dfe k >ive hurried away. He 
was one of the most crafty and , ^\f^iring employes of the 
New York police force. 

The heiress watched every mo'^i&iaent of the lord of “ Sil- 
vicola.” She alone of her party l: r:ew that the rescuer was 
his brother. She detected his selfes>ssession and his evident 
desire to ignore the identity of tfea ^an who had saved him 
Determined upon pursuing the tlm?^ad of her purpose to the 
end, she retained her policy of caution and silence regarding 
the facts of which she was possessed. She was anxious, 
however, to be of service to the disowned, vfhen so simple a 
matter as a suggestion might aid him, and so she turned 
finally to Montrose Earle, and remarked : — 

“ If this young man is of humble life and i)oor, yea will 


WAMWWK. 


of coarse reward him in aome way for the risk of his life. 1 
mention this subject, as my friend, Miss Deming, has ju.st 
informed me that she will appeal to her father to hunt out 
and reward this gallant fellow for the rescue.” 

“ Please beg her to desist, Miss Delano. I regard thit 
matter purely as my own affair. I shall send this man mv 
check for ten thousand dollars at the proper time.” 

The thought flashed to her mind that through this occui- 
rence she might ascertain the residence of the disowned, and 
thereby afford Lord Carnochan an opportunity to unravel the 
mystery of the name in the “ Chidstian Year,” as well as ob- 
tain the access to Constant Earle, regarding which she and 
her uncle had been foiled by his abrupt departure fi'om St. 
Luke's. 

“ You will then,” she said, “ of course notify Miss Dem- 
ing when you have ascertained who and where he is, that she 
'may at least make some personal acknowledgment of hie 
services in saving her life ? She ivill expect this.” 

This question was a serious annoyance to the master of 
“ Silvicola.” He dared not refuse, and yet the bringing to- 
gether of his brother and Miss Deming, and very likely also 
her friend, might lead to disclosures which would embarrass 
him, not only regarding his indomitable purpose to gain pos- 
session of the mother's picture, but also regarding the heiress, 
in whose good graces he was anxious to stand high. Miss 
Delano might not be able to comprehend why one son was 
floating in affluence on the stream of life, while the other 
was struggling barely to keep his head above the surface ; 
why one without wife or children, and yet the owner of mil- 
lions, could allow his only brother to live in a garret. The 
mistress of “ Sublimity ” had ensnared him in her fasci- 
nations. His world-wide experience with the sex had not 
saved him from the magic of that eye and the charm of those 
accomplishments. He already had considered favorably an 
alliance with the house of Delano. He had entered upon the 
difficult experiment of taming the pride and winning the 
heart of “ the beaufiful aristocrat.” She had already beaten 
him in his favorite exercise, horsemanship. This only 
whetted his appetite for victory. His iron will had already 
planned the recovery of the lost ground. He intended every 
move on the hymeneal chess-board should hereafter tell. It 
was requisite, therefore, that the heiress should not be man- 
Ifostly thwart^ in her first request. He would promit^ t* 


WAJtmOM, 


facilitate the interview, and then deceive her as to hit ability 
to effect it. The rescuer would mysteriously fail to bo un- 
earthed from his retreat. After an instant’s reflection, ha 
responded that it was manifest the young man desired to be 
unknown, as he had hastened away in the most mysterious 
manner. However, every device would be resorted to for 
the discovery of his whereabouts, and in the event of success 
she and her friend should be notified. And thus they 
parted, — Miss Doming taking a seat in her friend’s car- 
rij^, and Mr. Earle remaining to look after his shat- 
tered buggy and demoralized steeds. 

The heiress rolled away with the pleasing reflection that a 
large check was to be drawn in favor of the disowned, and 
his pathway to honor and literary reputation brightened. 
But the remarkable reticence of Montrose Earle regarding 
his brother, even on the occasion of his rescue from death, 
when one would imagine fraternal instinct would assert itself 
in recognition, confirmed her prejudice against the suspected 
murderer. The warm, poetic heart of the girl had been 
aroused by the eloquence and pathos of “ Murmurs from the 
Deep Sea.” The soul of the author was apparent in his 
book. “ Iconoclast ” shattered popular idols, but in their 
stead erected images of beauty, tenderness, and purity, which 
found prepared niches in her heart. She longed to know 
him, encourage his pursuit of letters, and, out of the sheer 
sympathy of a generous nature, reinstate him among th^ 
scenes and honors of his youthfhl home. 


eirapter xrii. 

Difluai oon ehi ta val, eapro ohel <Ae fid. 

Itauav pBovns. 

Dim« oon qai«a aadM, direto qai«D ores. 

SPAlUBa PBOTnB. 

The autumnal moon illumined the windows of a hum- 
ble dwelling in the metropolis. The rays flooded in through 
the glass upon a brother and sister ei\joying the brltf hour 
of companionship allowed them from the incessant calls of 


WAMmok. 


Wo 

and daily toil. The brother's hand held the small, 
white wrist of the other in his caressing way, as he said, 
“ You have not yet given up that habit of midnight crying, 
Lou. It distresses me to find ever those weary, contracted 
eyes, when I call.” 

“You imagine more than you see, brother ; you have no 
very exalted idea of my self-control. Do you think no one 
except yourself can bear with composure, poverty and depri-= 
vation of elegant and literary indulgences ? You do me in- 
justice.” 

“ You cannot deceive me, Lou. You bear up like a Spar- 
tan under adversity. The mere loss of comforts, such as we 
have been accustomed to, you do not appear to chafe under. 
But there is something deeper than this to trouble you ; do 
not protest. I have watched you too earnestly and too long 
not to know that some grief is wearing away upon your 
heartstrings, and that the secret will never be entrusted to 
your brother. Lou, for the sake of our lost mother, confide 
in me I You do not know what powers of relief a brother's 
heart and a brother's will are capable of I But I cannot en- 
dure this silent anguish, this superhuman control of agony 
when I am near, which I am assured, by my sense of sight, 
breaks forth into piteous tears when 1 am gone. Oh, let 
me help you, I beg of you, I entreat of you ! ” 

The words of tenderness aroused her. As she turned her 
fair face towards him the moonbeams glorified it. 

“ Constant, you have been my angel. Next to the word 
of God I value your counsel. You have divested yourself 
of every comfort, that the scanty pittance of your earnings 
might secure me some luxury I did not require. I have 
known that from the first ; I did not remonstrate, for I 
knew it would be only wasted words ; and then , I knew it 
afforded you more satisfaction than it would to have ex- 
pended it upon yourself. A woman's wants are not very 
extensive. My wages support me, — pay my board, and 
clothe me, — and your hard-earned dollars are surplusage to 
me. But you are my dearest brother, and you can do just 
as you please. But when you seek to explore the hidden 
mysteries of my heart, you encounter on the threshold — I 
may as weL inform you now — an insurmountable hydra. 
Constant, I have a secret, which, in ordinary circumstances, 
Tou should know before any other ; you should know it now 
a power to gratify you But once for aU I will 


lUrAMmtA, 


assure you that I am bound, by a solemn promise, to retala 
that secret until a certain contingency shall release me. 1 
beg of you to respect my promise/* 

“ I shall never allude to it again, sister.** After a bri^ 
silence he added, “ Why, do you think, am I so persecuted 
by Monti ose to yield up that picture to him?*’ 

“ Has he importuned you again? ** 

“ Yes ; last summer, beside mother’s grave, where w« 
chanced to meet.” 

“It is unreasonable,” was the response ; “ an assumption 
of dictatorial power. You made him no promise — gave 
him no encouragement ? ” 

“ I could not, sister. I promised mother to make that my 
palladium. She told me, at the time, that wealth and posi- 
tion were held ever by an uncertain tenure ; that she had 
known the most secure and stable fortunes to be undermined 
in a day, but that a mother’s memory was an eternal wealth. 
Before she handed it to me, she said, ‘Will you promise 
never to part with it? * and I gave my word which has never 
yet been impeached.” 

He enunciated the last sentence with the firmness and 
dignity of Thrasea’s response to the quaestor sent to tell 
him he must die : “ You live in an age, when it is requisite 
to fortify the mind by examples of constancy.” 

“ You never knew, Constant, that he offered me from the 
first a handsome competence if I would make the effort to 
induce you to part with the picture.” 

Never I** was the startled response. “And you, too, are 
a toiler for your bread for a similar firmness to mine I O 
sister, this is as strange as it is cruel I What inherent 
value has the picture for him? He has finer likenesses, 
deemed by every one superior in every respect.” 

“I cannot fathom his motives,” she said. “It is one of 
those whims that cannot be gratified, — and so I told him. 
I knew that you had given the promise, and that my inter- 
ference would be wrong. A promise to a mother is inviola- 
ble, — and so I told him. He was as bitter as gall to me 
ever afterwards. But, oh 1 I forgot to tell you something. 
I have found among mother’s letters something in regard to 
this very picture. I was reading them over the other night, 
and found, among them, a letter addressed to her, by the 
Gr^k who painted the miniature. What loaa hia name? 


WAMWWr, 


M 

But let me get the letter for you ; I laid It aside oa pua 
pose to show you.’^ 

She hastened away to her chamber. When she returned, 
bearing the letter, she remarked ; — 

“ It was painted on the brass weight, by this artist, when 
mother was in Greece. You remember she nursed him i»» 
his illness, — when he was dying of consumption. That w&d 
not the last attack; but, knowing that his end was near 
when he realized that the last hope had vanished, he sent, iv 
grateful remembrance, this picture to her hearing that shs 
was still in Greece. He appears to have been impressed by 
her beauty and goodness. See how feeble the handwriting 
is.” 

Constant Earle opened the letter and read thus : — 

“ Mt sweet, angelic Fbiend, — I shall soon be in that 
strange country of which you have so often talked. I hope 
I shall enter it with the love of God in my heart. You have 
nursed my soul and my body, and I must send you, before I 
die, something to recall my memory when I am gone. I 
have painted you, from recollection, upon this ancient frag- 
ment of brass. You will see, from the strange characters on 
the back of it, that it must have come down from antiquity. 
My father gave it to me and bade me cherish it, as some 
purpose of science or art might be subserved some day by 
the interpretation of the ancient writing upon it. I have 
no relatives, and leave it to 3^011. My father was a great 
scholar, and desired that this should be preserved. Ibere- 
fore honor his memory and mine by transmitting it to 
scholars or savans. It was excavated from some ruins in 
the island of Salamis. Farewell, lovely lady; 3-00 were 
gentle to me as a mother, and faithful to my eternal "soul. 
We shall never meet again on earth ; but up there, yes I up 
there, I trust you will meet me 1 You will be there. God 
grant that you may see there your poor 

“ .®8CHTLUS.” 

The two sat in silence for a few seconds, each abscurbed in 
reverie. Then the brother remarked : — 

“ There is something m3^sterious in the conduct of Mon- 
trose regarding this picture. T have offered to have it copied 
for him by the best artist in the city if he would pay 
sspf use oi it. Ko ; he would have my copy or none i 
18 




wAMmat. 


Imagined he might desire, as he is urious in such matten^ 
to endeavor to decipher the hieroglyi)hics upon the back of 
it, and so I offered to make a perfect copy of them and send 
to him. This displeased him still more. I cannot compre- 
hend him. He has, it appears, promised both of us inde- 
pendence in a pecuniary way for the simple possession of it. 
But I cannot part with it. The possession of that picture, 
and the glances I cast upon that dear face, seem ever to 
strengthen me for duty and toil and patience. My word is 
pledged to the dead. 1 cannot part with that gift until 
death reaches forth his cold arms to me. By my will that 
brazen voice of the past, still uninterpreted, is conveyed to 
my brother in fulfilment of my promise that I would keep it 
for life and then pass it down to a scholar. He is a noble 
scholar. I admire his attainments, and because he so 
ardently desires it I shall then give it to him. God pardon 
me if ever I lay any unkindness at his door 1 May I be for > 
given as truly and really as I forgive him.” 

He arose to depart, but she detained him for a farewell 
caress. Folding those arms about him, which were beautiful 
enough for an empress, she entreated him to spare his health 
in his studies and visit her oftener. 

“ I feel sometimes now, dear brother, the oppression of 
life with greater consciousness than formerly. I cling with 
fervor to the cross of my Lord, but I cannot bear to be alone 
as patiently in the evening. Do spare time to come oftener. 
I return now an hour earlier from the bindery, and am then 
oppressed with loneliness. Have you a large school yet?” 

“ Yes ; my day school is now full. I refused two more boys 
to-day. In the evening I hear the recitations of five young 
women in Greek, Latin, and Spanish. They are preparing 
for teachers or governesses.” 

“ Don’t suffer pretty e 3 ^es to make you forget your sister.” 

“ No danger, my darling sister. None of them are beau- 
tiftii as you. But one of them is very pretty and very 
sweet.” 

“ Ah ! I knew there was some reason for your not oom- 
ing here so frequently. Who is she? ” 

“ Nothing detains me from 3 ^ou, Lou, in the evening, but 
their instruction, and my book ; it is rapidly approaching 
completion. This girl is an unfortunate creature. She is 
very ambitious, and is taking Spanish lessons from me ; but 
■he has met with an accident that has disfigured her for life. 


m 


A spirit lamp exploded near her bed, set it on hre, burned 
off all her hair ; her forehead and cheeks and neck are fright- 
fhlly marked by the flames, and she is hopelessly disfignred 
for life.” 

“ And yet you think her pretty? ” 

“ Yes ; her eyes are pretty and genius-marked. Her 
mouth is lovely. Her nose is as regular as Grecian chisel 
ever traced. But she has to cover her forehead, cheeks, and 
neck with a white cloth and her head with a black one, which 
gives her the appearance of a very pretty and spiritual nun 
No one but a woman could ever have invented snch a rem- 
edy for disfiguration. I forget her misfortunes when she is 
conversing or reciting, she is so amiable and earnest.” 

“ Ah, brother, don't lose your heart to a disfigured woman. 
Tour looks entitle you to something grand.” 

“ Love never entered my heart, sivster. I promise to coma 
to you and lay bare the first wound.” 

“ I shall hold you to that promise, mind.” 

“ Very well. I promise you.” 

He gave her a warm embrace, pressed his lips to her pure 
face, and went out into the moonlight. As he passed on 
towards his lodgings an old man stepped out from a dark 
alley and followed him. The pace of the teacher was rapid 
and the sexagenarian quickened his own. It was no easy 
matter to keep within sight of one who hastened to his man- 
uscripts, which were some day to be his source of bread. 
He had lost time in his fraternal visit, and the midnight was 
at hand. He must hasten to complete another chapter and 
sleep before morning, that his new pursuit of pedagogue 
might be followed faithfully for the interests of all concerned. 
Faster and faster moved his manly figure in the moonlight, 
and fleeter grew the steps of his aged pursuer. It was a 
strange spectacle, so venerable a face travelling above such 
nimble steps. Away on past the flying side streets he strode, 
and the watchful follower never lost sight of him for an 
instant. He turned at length northward and entered the 
shadow. The pursuer turned the comer in time to secure 
another unerring glimpse of the hastening pedestrian, so 
utterly unconscious that his steps were dogged. A long 
stretch of streets and alleys was traversed, and still the old 
man faltered not in his pursuit, but continued on after him. 
At length the teacher paused before a row of small houses, 
pew and dean, and fitted a key to one of the Thf 


m 




pursuer stole rapidly up to him, and before the head of thi 
first flight of hall stairs was gained called after him 

“ Please stop, young man. I want to speak with you/* 

He turned suddenly and beheld the old man below in thi 
moonlight. 

“ Well ; speak on. I am waiting to hear you /' 

“ You may be the man, or you may not be the man,*' was 
the response. “ Here is a letter for somebody here, at this 
number. You had better come down and see if it*s for you. 
It’s moonlight down here, and you can read here.” 

He aescended to the front door and received the missive. 
He uttered an exclamation as he read the address : “ Why, 
that is the handwriting of Mr. Montrose Earle, and it’s for 
me. Where did you get it ? ” 

“ He told me to bring it to this number, and give it to any 
one who recognized the handwriting. Otherwise, he said, 
bring it back. Nobody else was to have it. He wants an 
answer,” 

“ Come up to my room, old man, and sit down until I can 
attend to it” 

He p3t«sed[ up the stairs again, and on the second floor un- 
locked another door and proceeded to strike a light. The 
wick of the lamp caught the flame of the match, and slowly 
spread into a clear light. He was standing in a small 
school-room amid desks and chairs. He placed the lamp on 
a desk and looked towards the door for the advent of the 
messenger. It seemed as if the old man would never drag 
his aged frame up to the landing. Amid sighs and lumber- 
ing sounds he toiled his way upward, and finally stood in 
the door of the school-room. His nimble pace had deserted 
him. He stood tottering there in his feebleness, wrinkled 
and gray, his clothes wretched and his hat battered. 

Sit down, old man ; you look rather feeble to be a mes- 
senger.” 

“ I must earn my bread, you know. Thank ye, sir. ifU 
sit here.” 

He shuffled down into a chair and sat with a vacant look, 
waiting for the reading of the letter and the penning of the 
reply. But his eyes were directed to the face of the teacher, 
and when at length he became interested in his brother’s 
epistle, those eyes keenly regarded him. They had become 
as quick in their glances as his steps had before been fleet. 
They noted every object in the apartment, every d^, irUt 


WAMWmSi. 


SOI 

dow, and shelf; then they settled upon the face of the read 
er. A struggle was going on there. Any novice in physl* 
ognomy could detect that. There was the bright flush and 
excitement of sudden joy, the revulsion of doubt, and then a 
settled gloom. The anxiety of weary nights was swept 
away in an instant. Ambition was crownetl, and success 
stood jubilant in a halo. Instantly both were hurled to the 
earth and anxiety resumed the sceptre. The struggle was 
short, sharp, decisive. He grasped a pen from the desk and 
wrote ; — 

“Mr DEAR Brother, — Your gratitude is appreciated; 
but it has led you to forget that I am a man and an Earle. 
In the history of our family it has never been known that 
one of us ever accepted money for saving human life. 

“ Your affectionate brother, 

“ Constant Earle.” 

The messenger saw him deliberately fold up a check for 
ten thousand dollars^ place it in the reply, and proceed to 
direct the envelope that contained both. He handed the 
letter to the messenger, and then sat down beside the desk 
listening to the aged feet making their painful descent to 
the street. He had flung away the publication of his book, 
hours of ease, the convenience of studying scientific works 
and classical authorities in his own room, perhaps his future. 
He had retained simply, honor. Life is practical. Was he 
a fool? 

Slowly and tediously toiled the old man down the stair- 
way, clattered clumsily along the hall, thumped down the 
single step into the street, and commenced his snail pace 
along the pav6. He turned, at length, a comer, glanced 
about him in the moonlight, saw that he was unobserved, 
and then walked away with the fleet, springing step of 
twenty. It was Fagan, the detective. 

When her brother had departed, Louisa Earle took the 
lamp from the haU table, secured the front door, and ascend- 
ed to her little room. She was a boarder in the family of 
her distant relatives. As she moved up the stairway the 
light fell upon her face. It was the spiritual countenance 
of the Madonna Di San Sisto. She passed noiselessly into 
her room, quenched the light, and sat by the window. 
Again the moonbeam^ fied her. Sha M 




lid 

haads and looked upward to a star. But her soul kni&ll 
8 be was praying. Afler a time her thoughts fluttered bacsh 
to earth. She rested her head against the cold glass and 
memory returned. “ VTill you never come, never? Oh, 
how patiently I have waited for you ; trusted you, loved 
you, prayed for you I You have exceeded the time so many 
months. The soul of honor and truth tarries long. Hush, 
beating heart 1 He will yet come. And that dream last 
night, how vividly God sent it to me! that dear face, so 
earnest, noble; those glorious eyes beaming upon me in 
tenderness and love. Would that every night kind Heaven 
would send me dreams like this, that all the weary watching 
and undying trust of a woman’s heart might find some rec- 
ompense 1 Ah ! it is so hard to be always patient, always 
trusting in the goodness of God, when no reward comes and 
he stays away from me so long. Not one clasp of his fond 
arm ; not one kiss from his warm lips for me. My soul 
yearns for him, pleads for his coming. He has not deserted 
me. His love is pm*er than the mountain air, sweeter than 
the cadences of music, and his words freighted with the 
Christian’s earnestness and sanctity. He will come to me 
soon. A horror crosses my soul. It will not settle there ; 
but spreads its dusky wings in the morning of hope. The 
Eternal could not reward such love and constancy as mine 
by the cruel edict, death I No, no ; he is too beautiful to 
die. The flowers would fold their petals and weep, he loved 
them so well. The snow-vessels of the sky would mourn in 
everlasting black the closing of those rMiaut eyes which 
revelled in their fleecy voy^es ; and all the peals of joyous 
music would die away in dirges when his ringing laugh was 
hushed in death. By these tokens I know he lives ; The 
birds swing upon the branches, singing merrily ; dear music 
rises and falls in exquisite cadences ; the stars look kindly 
upon me ; all the heavens move in harmony, and hope sings 
to me like a bird from my Father’s Paradise. Oh I he lives, 
^ lives I Father in heaven, send him quickly. Jesus, Lamb 
of God; who hast known the horrors of lonelinesg and desola- 
tion, send him to me, for my soul yearns for his coming I I 
have never tufsed my back on thee. I have clung to thy 
m)68, and striven to honor thee before men. Do not thou 
desert me In my agony. Send him to me, dw Lord, for 1 
am thy child forever 1 ” 

She hushed her raviivg as a solemn 9i the 




tn 


»ir. Th« clock chimed mididght. Every stroke tiembled i« 
prolonged distincUiess upon the ear of the deserted watcher. 
“ Another day has j>a 83 ed, and still he comes not/* Sha 
bowed her head uiX)n her hands and sobbed aloud. Then, 
as the memory of the divine invitation reciured to her, she 
opened her book of evening prayer, and,,kneeling by the win- 
dow, prayed earnestly in the moonlight. She was interrupted 
by something thrown suddenly against the glass beside her. 
She started up and looked out into the stsreet. The moon- 
beams lighted the walks with the cleaiuess of day, and ahe 
saw at once a man standing on the opposite pavement, and 
eridently making signs to her. What could it mean at that 
late hour ? Who was it ? She shrank back from the window, 
but still remained near enough to watch the stranger’s move- 
ments. He raised something above his head, and then 
offered it to her. It was a dark-looking object, small, but 
still risible. He passed it into his other hand and held it 
eat to her again. She feared he might be intoxicated. Her 
modesty induced her to withdraw entirely from the window. 
After a few moments she looked again, and found him still 
there. He raised the object and offered it to her again. She 
raised the sash, and said, peremptorily, “ Go away, or I shall 
call for the watch.” 

“ Lady,” replied a gentlemanly tone, “ I suspect this book 
belongs to you. If I am right, you may claim it. I will 
leave it in the door. But, wait a moment, here comes a 
watchman. I will entrust it to him. He shall bring it to 
you. If it is yours, claim it, and take it in the house. If 
not, be kind enough to return it to me by the watchman, that 
I may find the owner.” 

There was something suspicious in this procedure. There 
might be complicity to gain admittance to the house for burg- 
lary. She hesitated a moment; but, as the well-known 
features and form of the night-watch came up in the moon- 
light, she said, “Very well. There comes a policeman 
whom I know ; give the book to him.” 

She saw the night-watch receive the book ; and then, light- 
Ing her lamp, proceeded downstairs to open the ftont door. 
The house was silent ; the inmates asleep. The officer was 
standing before the door when she opened it. “ This book,” 
he said, “ was found under a pillow in St. Luke’s Hospital, 
It i* supposed to belong to you. Claim it, if it is yourj» ” 

She reoc^^xdznd it at once. It was hex ewo. 


wAMmar* 


SIS 

&m Yeiy thankful to you,” she said. It is mine* and was 
unaccountably lost.” 

“ You are certain you are the owner?” inquired the officer. 

“ Indeed, I am,” was the response. “ My name is not 
here ; but it is mine, as I can establish whenever it is neces- 
sary.” 

“ That is all right,” was the response. “ You will be put 
to no trouble to prove the ownership. Good-night, miss.” 

She closed the door, went up to her room, and opened the 
book. She looked at the name which was written there, and 
then looked out the window. The stranger was conversing, 
apparently, with the watchman. He soon turned away and 
disappeared ; and the watchman continued on down his beat. 
How marvellous that the book had found its way back to 
her 1 How could any stranger know or suspect that it be- 
longed to her ? She puzzled over the matter in vain. Who 
would take the trouble to hunt her up at midnight in a great 
city to return such a trifle ? The insignificance of the book 
made all this trouble and concern to ascertain the owner 
very remarkable. She concluded to regard it, at length, as 
an omen of better fortunes for her in the future. Perhaps 
God would indicate by trifles at first his regard for her. 
Her gratitude for this might ensure greater happiness here- 
after in this life. She returned thanks to Heaven for this 
token, and then retired to her bed. The labor of the morrow 
was not far remote. The employee of the book-bindery 
must sleep. She was soon dreaming of that face that, wak- 
ing or sleeping, haunted her. 

The stranger who had returned the book continued on his 
way, and engaged in mental study. “ I told them so. I 
knew that man was truthful. His face is good as a bond. 
He knows nothing of this person. She is the one who 
knows most of him. No one on earth could have left that 
book but the lady visitor. I told them so. Now they will 
see that I am no fool. But the next link. Ah I the next 
link. Will she tell what she knows ? What has she to con- 
ceal? There's the difficulty. She looks like a lady, acts 
like a truly pious person, keeps respectable company. She 
little knows how well her movements are watched. I hope 
she has had nothing to do with this business. Indeed I do.” 

And thus Fagan meditated on his way. He was going t« 
head-quarters to report. 


trdHWKTg 


til 


\ 


Cfjapttr XXMi. 

This is a oreatore, 

Would she begin a sect, might quench the seal 
Of all professors else ; make proselyte* 

Of who she but bid follow. 

Tax WiXTiE's Talk. 

The wind went bowling on its cheerless way, tossing and 
whirling capriciously^ the falling snow-flakes. The storm 
waxed in intensity, harrying pedestrians along the whiten- 
ing pavements, and crowding the platforms of the avenue 
cars with shivering passengers, anxious to gain the shelter 
and blazing fires of home. The lamps upon the corner 
posts of the streets gleamed hazy and faint amid the 
masses of drifting, whirling, gliding snow. Tiie shop win- 
dows were growing misty, the tramp of feet on the side- 
walks gave forth a muffled sound, while at intervals the rush 
of the wind hurled against the window-glass the flue snow- 
flakes with a gentle, tinkling patter, reminding the insiders 
of their comfortable shelter and the gloom outside. As tlie 
gale freshened and gathered power, the window-shutters 
creaked and swung backward with a crash against the build- 
ings, the air rushed in under the doors of the poor and 
added new draft to the stove fires, and the miniature snow- 
banks on the window-sills rose higher and higher against the 
glass till a contrary blast swept off their tops again and 
whirled them on to the accumulating masses in the street. 
The night police paced sullenly along their beats, snow- 
crowned and shivering; and the tinkle of the car-bells 
sounded faintly in the gathering gloom and howl of the 
storm. 

One room was cosey and comfortable with its snow-bound 
windows and its coal fire. The soft light of a lamp illu- 
mined it and softened the features of a student earnest in the 
study of his book. About him were school-desks, all de- 
serted save one, where a young girl still lingered engaged 
in writing out one of her Spanish exercises. She would 
have made at that moment an admirable study for an artist 
who would delineate a nun graceful, and poring over the 
record of a holy life, — an Anglo-Saxon Editha. The dis- 
figured portions of her fcu’ehead and cheeks ware bound 


su 


rxtmcr. 


white cloths concealing utterly her misfortune, anJ the daft 
veil covering her head fell gracefully upon her neck and 
shoulders. It was an admirable method of concealing a dis- 
aster and making the most of it. Her clinched left hand 
supported her cheek, and her eyes ran rapidly to and from 
her book to her copy, and then followed the nervous and 
rapid undulations of her pen. She was utterly absorbed in 
her task, and her eyes were never raised, else she would have 
detected occasional glances stolen at her by the teacher, 
whose absorption in his book might have been more intense. 
Occasionally he corrected himself mentally for the aber- 
ration of his thoughts, and returned with renewed vigor to 
the perusal of his classical authority. At length her task 
was completed and she brought it to the teacher for exami- 
nation. He laid aside his book and compared her writing 
with the English text . he had given her to translate. She 
stood beside him with the fingers of her right hand daintily 
resting upon the edge of his desk and studying his face while 
he examined her work. Her eyes recognized his beauty, as 
they had done many a night before, and an expression of 
deep interest, or sympathy, flitted across them as she con- 
templated him. He looked up at length and her eyelashes 
drooped. 

“ You are making rapid progress,” he said, pleasantly, 
“ and, if you are attentive and careful always as you have 
been to-night, you will soon master this language. I know 
that you will enjoy Spanish literature when ita treasures are 
fairly opened to you. There is one word in your translation 
which is worthy of mention. Here it is ‘‘ azulejos. ” In 
Arabic it is az-zulaj. They are nothing more nor less than 
the Dutch tiles of which you have no doubt heard much. 
They were introduced into Spain by the Moors and from 
there carried to Holland. They were sapphire and blue. 
Some writers regard them as the same pavement mentioned 
lii the book of Exodus, and likely to have been known to 
the Hebrews. But hear the wind I It is a fearful night for 
you to be out alone. Shall I not accompany you to the 
street-car ? You will be blown away.” 

“ No, I thank you I am substantial enough to face a 
little wind, and it is but * step. But it appears to me that 
you are growing thinner. Are 3"ou not overtasked by your 
two schools and by your writing ? You seeir W always 
oooupied. You never rest, I fear.” 


WAaWTCK. 


m 

“ Earth Is not a place of rest ; that Is the Elysium of the 
saints, perfect rest.” 

He said this with an air of sadness ; then, recovering in- 
stantly, as if he had betrayed too much of his inner life to 
the girl, he continued with a laugh : “ But I am becoming such 
an inveterate student that I am really unhappy when I am 
not at work. We never know our own capacity for applica- 
tion until it is tested. But while I think of it I want to 
show you my new student’s lamp, which I shall use late at 
night when I court an extraordinary inspiration. It is a 
gift, from a lady whose son I am preparing for college.” 

“ That will indeed be charming ; do let me see it. I am 
sure it must be a gem, since it is a present ; something rare 
no doubt. Are you bound to preserve the lady’s name a 
secret?” 

“ Not at all ; Mrs. Gillmore, of Twentieth Street, an ae- 
complished woman, who fancies I give greater impetus to 
her son’s education than any tutor he has had. But let me 
get it for you.” 

He passed across the room to a large closet where his 
bedding was heaped up during school-hours. The floor of 
the school-room was his bedstead. He produced a large 
glass lamp, fashioned in the shape of an owl, and standing 
upon silver feet. The wick issued from the top of the head, 
and the eyes were polished jet. It was made of ground 
glass, and upon it was traced the ancient Greek salutation 
at the production of the evening lamp, ^^JCacpe <piXu>v 
The back of the lamp bore the Latin synonyma, Salve 
arnica lux"* It was a strange conceit, and both pupil and 
teacher laughed as they examined its details. “ Is not the 
owl a symbol of night and solitary meditation ? ” inquired 
the pupil. “ I think I have seen it so styled.” 

“ It is,” was the response ; “ and is frequently found 
among the hieroglyphical inscriptions of Egypt.” 

“ Are you familiar with that people, with the history, I 
mean, of the Egyptians ? ” she inquired. 

“ Not very,” he replied. “ I have always been interested 
in the explorations made in that venerable country. But 
their history is meagre, fragmentary, gleaned principally 
from the inscriptions on monumental tombs, temples, e^c. 

I refer, of course, to their ancient history. My own impres- 
sions are, that they may have attained great culture in the 
arts and sciences at an earlier period than is generally siqp 


WARWICK. 


posed. There ts no reason to pronounce them ignorant of 
barbarians before the accounts we have of them In the 
Scriptures. It is evident that before men were divided by 
different customs and languages, long before the days of 
Abraham, they had made great progress in the arts. The 
brick tower of Babel, and the city constructed by them, 
while they still possessed a common language, and the ap- 
prehension God expressed that there would be no limit to 
which their united labors and skill would not attain, — all 
attest the progress of art and knowledge, long before the 
earliest records we have of the Egyptians. And far away 
behind the times of Babel, the Scriptures inform us of the 
wonderful progress of knowledge and art. Before the del- 
ete even, the manufacture of brass and iron was known ; also 
the harp and the organ. When Noah entered the ark, he , 
was six hundred 5^ears old in the knowledge of his times, 
and when he left the ark he lived three hundred and fifty 
years longer to transmit his knowledge to the people who 
afterwards built the city and tower of Babel. It appears to 
me gratuitous to pronounce the times of Joseph the com- 
mencement of knowledge, and the cradle of the arts, or to 
assert that they did not exist in Egypt long before his 
times.” 

“ How interesting all these matters must be to those who 
have the time or the books to refer to ! ” 

“ Ah, yes ; the passion of research grows upon one un- 
consciously. Had I the means I would sun’ound myself 
with the most perfect library of learned and useful books in 
the world.” 

At the thought his eye beamed with the glory of ambition 
and acquisition. He turned to his companion, who was 
regarding him with intense interest. The excitement of 
intellect and enthusiasm is contagious. She spoke with 
something of his own spirit in reply : — 

“ I think I can comprehend your feeling ; my life must be 
passed in imparting to others only the gleanings of learning 
which I can gather In humble life. But I am sure I know 
what it is to aspire to greater attainments. You are a man, 
and may in time win the money for literary culture. I 
trust you may. But it would afford mo great pleasure if you 
would indicate tcfeiine the line of reading I should pursue to 
gain all the information possible in ray humble sphere of 


WAMWICK, 


Motion. 1 do not know what to read ; tlie public librati«i 
of this city are so vast that I need a director.” 

“ Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to suggest 
readings to you. I will speak to you on this subject, briefly 
of course, every time you come to me to recite.” 

“You are very kind, sir.” 

“ Not at all ; it will be a pleasure, and will suggest also to 
my own mind matters which I should remember. But, since 
you have introduced this subject, let me inform you of a mat- 
ter in which I am interested. Perhaps if you take up a 
course of ancient readings, you can assist me occasionally, 
and thus we shall be jointly benefited. I have a curious 
relic of antiquity. My mother gave it to me, and certain 
circumstances have combined to arouse my curiosity regard- 
ing it. A Greek artist painted my mother’s likeness on 
one side of what appears to be an ancient Greek weight. 
It may have been used as our own brass and iron weights 
are. On the reverse are strange and unintelligible inscrip- 
tions. I would like to devote an hour each evening to the 
diflacult task of deciphering these hieroglyphics. Now, if 
you will take up the history of Greece, and after your Span- 
ish recitation every evening give me an abstract of what you 
have read, verbally I mean, you may help my research, for 
I am going to attack Greece first. You will certainly be 
benefited, and I will thus have more leisure for investigation 
in other departments. Will your time allow of this ? ” 

The response was eager and rapid. 

“ I will make time in some way for this. I know it will 
benefit me.” 

“ That will be very pleasant for us. Now let me show 
the weight to you.” 

He proceeded to the closet again, and, taking from a box 
which contained the sum total of his earthly effects the mys- 
terious gift of the Greek, he returned to her side and desired 
her to be seated. They drew chairs up to the desk, and the 
brass relic was placed in her hands for a preliminary exami- 
tation. He drew the lamp nearer to his pupil and sat re^ 
garding her earnestly while she inspected the likeness. 

“ It is beautiful enough for an angel,” she exclaimed, 
after a minute inspection of the picture. “ Any one might 
know you were her son. You have tbe same eyes, mouth, 
imd sometimes the same expression. Is slie living?” 

1 » 




m 

Alas ! no. The brightness of life faded when aha 
died.” 

The girl glanced up at the proud, beautifhl, noble face of 
the speaker. What true woman does not respect a man for 
the avowal of that tendeniesS which is at once the weakness 
and glory of his manhood ? Blended power and gentleness 
are the token of a well-balanced heritage of ancestral blood. 
The Teacher of Galilee inherited the power of the Godhead 
and the gentleness of Mary’s human heart. Thus could he 
appreciate human weakness and pardon it. 

Tlie scholar sat very near to him, and he fancied once or 
twice that she manifested that gentle ^tremor or excitement 
which sympathy and magnetism occasion between those 
who are congenial and sit almost in contact. This physical 
attraction or consciousness in time may ripen into love. 
He regarded her with interest and pity, nothing more. It 
seemed so hard that the charm of her natural grace and 
intelligence should be marred by the consciousness of dis- 
figuration. But he soon forgot this drawback again in the 
gentle tones of her voice and the ease of her manner. A soft, 
dreamy glamour appeared to envelop her every movement 
and action. Her language flowed without effort, and only 
when some unusual excitement aroused her did she manifest 
that dilation of the pupil of the eye which indicates the 
slumbering powers of the woman. Her attractiveness had 
grown upon him. The presence of the other female scholars 
In the evening school had overshadowed her to a certain ex- 
tent. She appeared more retiring and quiet in her nature 
than the rest. She spoke pleasantly , to all, but studiously 
avoided familiarity, and devoted her undivided attention to 
her Spanish. Sometimes she was the first to recite and leave 
the school-room. She never before had been the last. She 
appeared more natural and unrestrained upon this stormy 
evening than he had ever seen her. The future governess 
was winning his favor without effort. Unlike the young 
teachers who were qualifying themselves for future and more 
extended usefulness, she never sought to engross his atten- 
tion by irrelevant conversation. The others might be par- 
doned for wishing to linger beside that beautiful face and 
those fascinating tones, but «he always appeared satisfied 
with that contact which secured her recitations and released 
her from the school-room. Butf’ i ^srelict on this 
•rening regarding her duty. peered to havf 


mAMmcx. 


m 

been confhsed in her manuscript, and with a slight laugh of 
annoyance she requested permission to withdraw to her desk 
and rewrite the entire exercise. The others had withdrawn, 
and thus she was left alone with the teacher. The result 
was a compact for mutual study and improvement in Gre* 
cian literature. It is always dangerous for two beautiful 
and gifted representatives of the sexes to be brought inti- 
mately and alone together, no matter what maybe the osten- 
sible necessity for such communion. One or the other is 
likely to suffer. Cupid steals as remorselessly in through 
the studious silence of the academy as he does through the 
music-haunted halls of frivolity. But now it appeared the 
crafty little god was to have it all his own way. No strange 
eyes were to restrain intercourse. No damaging tongues 
were to have play. The teacher and pupil were to sit in 
peril one mortal hour each evening in mutual edification 
and mental improvement. Two pair of beautiful eyes were 
mutually to instruct each other in the lore of buried nations. 
The toss of a penny as to which shall turn up, hearts or 
brains 1 

“ You have indeed been unfortunate in such a loss,” she 
said, seriously. No human power can fathom what substi- 
tute was silently suggested to that girl’s mind for this afflic- 
tion. She only looked at the reverse side of the brass 
weight, and seemed at once to become profoundly interested 
in the hieroglyphics upon it. 

“What is all this grouping of men and tents on the 
right?” she said; “and here on the left is something that 
resembles an elephant fenced in. He seems on the point of 
devouring little ducks with their heads turned around over 
their backs. How curious I ” 

The teacher smiled, and producing a magnifying glass 
from his vest-pocket said i — 

“ Examine the ducks with this glass, and I think you will 
agree with me that they-are little lamps of the antique pat- 
tern, such as are found at Pompeii, with curved handles at 
one end and the flame streaming out at the other. The 
Egyptian lamps of that pattern have been preserved.” 

“ Why, they certainly are little lamps. This glass brings 
them out distinctly. They seem to be standing around a 
dark hole. There must be something in that pit worth see- 
Ing.” 

“ That was precisely my own oos^ture when 1 examined 


WAJtWWM. 


m 

them with the glass The suggestion is likely to be tbi 
correct one, since we both agree upon it at once. What do 
you say about this figure a little above the lamps, and this 
one a little below? You will require the glass again.” 

“ Why, this one is a crocodile or lizard, and the other one 
higher up looks like a cow. I can certainly see the horns. 
What do you call them, Mr. Earle ? ” 

“ In the absence of any clue to the country where this 
brass was cast, I pronounce them to be the sacred bull and 
crocodile of Egypt. I cannot define what you call the 
elephant. It is too out of proportion with the bull, too huge 
beside the bull, to be an elephant. It must be intended for 
some larger animal. Behind this huge creature, what you 
call a fence seems to me to be a forest, only the trees have 
no branches ; everything runs straight up and down. Behind 
this forest there is a space which seems to be full of little 
holes, with spiral lines running to or from them. It looks 
like water running into holes, or running away from them.” 

“ Perhaps they are springs, Mr. Earle. See I the line 
curves and winds away from them.” 

“We shall have to call them springs until we gain further 
light. Now what do you call this wavy line behind the 
springs?” He pointed it out to her with the point of his 
pen. 

“ That looks like a serpent,” she said. 

“ I do not think so, for this reason. The line is too long 
and out of proportion for .that. Your serpent would bo 
longer than your elephant, your bull and your crocodile, and 
my forest put together. I think it is intended for a chain 
of mountains.” 

“ That may be, Mr. Earle. But what is this behind your 
mountains? This line is four times, five times, yes, ten 
times longer than 3"our chain of mountains. It is an irregu- 
lar line ; but it just divides your brass weight through the 
middle. Those men and tents are away off in the extreme 
part of the other half. They do not appear to have any con- 
nection with this side of the weight. See ! ” 

“ Yes, I see. But examine careful^ with the glass aga’ii 
and tell me what they are doing with their hands.” 

“ Why, the two beside the tents are pointing across the 
open space towards your mountains, or perhaps towards the 
huge animal which looks towards the lamps. Yes ; and so 
Ib the man who stands alone without any tent. He Is point 


WABmCK. 




iBft the same way with one hand ; but with the other he 
pc^ts down to bis own feet. Something appears to be 
written at his feet. I cannot make it out.” 

“ I Aave made it out,” was the response. “ It is Greek, 
‘ Soifia* signifying wisdom, eminent skill, or profound knowb 
edge. That is surely the meaning of the word. How it is 
connected with all this gi’ouping is more than I can con- 
ceive, unless it is susceptible of this construction. Profound 
knowledge, there^ that is where he is pointing downward 
will lead men (here; that is where he is pointing in common 
with the two men standing apart. Now these two men 
whom you imagine are standing beside tents, I think are 
standing beside the pyramids of Egypt. They are too high 
for tents, so much higher than the men as to be absurd. 
Just look at them.” 

“ How quick you are I You must have a good eye for per- 
spective. If this brass is very ancient, they may be the 
pyramids. You have enlisted my curiosity. Where was 
this thing found ? ” 

“ In the island of Salamis. That is all we have to start 
with. Your readings in Grecian history maj^ suggest some 
connection between Salamis and Eg3^pt ; for I cannot divest 
my mind of the idea that those tall, tent-like objects sj^mbol- 
ize Egypt. I am tolerably well-informed in Grecian litera- 
ture ; but thousands of insignificant facts will, of course, 
escape the memory, and your fresher reading may recall to 
me a simple fact which will be the perfect clue. I think this 
solitary man is standing upon the island of Salamis, where 
the brass was discovered. He is pointing to a Greek word. 
Hence I infer that he may be a Greek. If this hypothesis 
is correct, then I deduce this conclusion from my premises. 
A Greek points to some object of interest, the knowledge of 
which is held in common with two Eg^^ptians who point the 
same way. The premises may ail be wrong, and then our 
investigations wdll fall to the ground. But you will store 
your mind with historical facts, and I shall have to open 
another line of investigation. But allow me to say here, 
this island of Salamis is a glorious memory, a golden page 
In the annals of Greece. The poet iEschylus was in the 
battle there, and in bis drama of The Persians* he has 
erected a monument of gloiy that will never crumble. 
Fancy for one moment that dramatic spectacle. On a slojpc 
pf Mount JEgaleo« sat Xerxes on a throne of gold , with sil 
19 * 


m 


fTJMWIVK. 


fer feet. The ri..ces and potentates from Babylon, 
tana, and Susa surrounded him, all gai:ing down over 
battle. They had reporters in those days with pens and 
tablets grouped about the monarch, lecordingthe swaying 
fortunes of the combatants, and marking down the Persian 
generals who distinguished themselves, that they might re* 
oeive promotion. Here the mighty conqueror looked down 
upon the island and gulf of Salamis. On the side of the 
gulf nearest to his position was drawn up in three lines, the 
immense fleet of the Persians. The entire navy of the East 
was at his feet. Opposite to them, and clinging to the coast 
of Salamis, was the little navy of Athens, Sparta, and -®gi- 
na, their combined shipping amounting to only one-third of 
the Persian fleet. But Themistocles commanded the Greeks. 
Suddenly up the sides of the mountain swept the war-song 
of the Greeks. It reached the monarch’s ear over the 
waters. They were singing of their wives, their children, 
and their beleaguered country. I never recall that song 
without emotion. Onward they came, their oars beating 
time to the inspiring song, and like maddened eagles their 
vessels swept into the fearful Persian an’ay, and scattered 
them to the four winds of heaven. The wrecks of their ves 
sels covered the waters of the gulf, and the army Xerxes 
had drawn up on the island of Psyttalea to prevent the 
escape of the Greeks was scattered before his eyes. He 
rent his garments and rushed wildly from his golden throne, 
which was captured and placed in the Acropolis at Athens. 
This recollection will fix in your mind the island of Salamis, 
and something may arise in connection with this name to 
identify the solitary figure that stands here on the brass, so 
mysteriously pointing in two directions.” 

The scholar had regarded the speaker closely, noting every 
gleam of his excited eye, and every graceful gesture of hifi 
raised arm, partaking of his enthusiasm, and captivated by 
his manner. She promised then to aid him when her duties 
would permit, and with a gracious smile bade him good- 
evening, and turned to descend into the street and the 
storm. She covered her conventual^ head-dress with a dark 
hood, threw on her cloak, and passed away down into the 
snow-laden wind. She allowed the teacher to accompany 
her only to the street dooi ■, and then left, struggling up 
against the storm, and making for a street car. Constant 
Earle retraced his steps to his school-room, and prepared fof 


WAMincx. 


m 


the long and lamp-lit labors of the night. It waa nearb 
daylight when he abandoned his manuscripts for sleep. 


ttfiaptfr XXiV. 

VoTslty if irh»t tre reeoT«r from obliyion. Wo cut tab IHOo o«i of ^ rivii 
Lotko ilmt hff mot first been thrown Into it 

Pi.inci CHATrauun. 

There is a country which is the garden spot of a continent. 
It is protected from the winds of the ocean by ranges of 
mountains on the east. Its soil nourishes the roots of giant 
trees, beneath whose branches another and stranger forest 
shoote upwards in slender beauty but impassable density, — a 
forest of cane. Across this country of luxuriant growth and 
wonderflil fertility flow its veins, imparting vitality to its 
body, and moving in deep, rocky channels with perpendicular 
banks. There are entire regions of its undulating surface 
where the natural growth of the grass is as fine and beautiful 
as the lawn of an English estate. Other tracts are covered 
with wild clover and buffalo grass, affording admirable pa&- 
ture, and the wild flowers give to the landscape an extraordi- 
nary beauty. The sugar-tree in its forests attains a wonder- 
flil height, and wild grape-vines curl and cling to the trunk, 
rising like huge serpents from the earth fifty or seventy feet 
perpendicularly in the air before they attempt to coil their 
mighty folds about the doomed monarch, who after years of 
struggle dies. These marvellous vines attain the summit of 
the tree, and spread over the tops a denser covering of their 
own leaves, and thus the monarch slowly yields up his life 
excluded fVom the sun. The honey locust, with its thorny 
spikes and long, sweet-flavored pods, the paw-paw, and the 
coffee-tree mingle in the forests. The country is rolling and 
there are no absolute plains. Monotony is a word unknown. 
There are hills and vales rounded with a surface of the 
richest soil, mountains bold and beautiful, and woods desti- 
tute of undergrowth, where the richest pasturage is found. 
This is a true picture of to-day. At tlie present hour theat 
peculiarities are palpable, though cities and towns aiid vU 


wjjtmcx. 


m 

lages lie thick upon its surface, though the iron horse h>wla 
through the land at his fearful speed and the steamer parts 
gracefully the river waters. One hundred years of civiliza- 
tion and culture have made this natural garden the paradise 
of a great empire. With all the improvements made in its 
adjoining and remote sister provinces it is still the garden, 
and, unless up heaved by volcanic action or fractured by 
earthquakes, will ever remain so. 

This luxuriant surface, this variegated land, is the Arabia 
of the New World, in the development of the beauty and 
speed of its horses. They leave its boundaries with “ empire ” 
marked upon their foreheads, and the nation bows to the 
assumption. 

This land is a battle-ground. Thousands of gallant foe- 
men are sleeping now under freshly cut turf. The nation 
shivers at the memory of its recent agony. Often within 
the last one hundred years has it been a battle-ground. 
Arrows and bullets cleaved its air so thickly and so frequently 
that the name was given to it: “The dark and bloody 
ground.” There was a day when this land was unknown to 
Europeans. Then red men shot and tomahawked and 
scalped each other and won renown in battle. Far behind 
the Indian race a nation of men, taller as their bones testify, 
powerful and skilled in the arts of war, erected fortifications 
and carried on scientific slaughter. It is with lost nation- 
alities this chapter has to do. How long this ancient people 
held possession of the country, from what nursery of nations 
they came, whether they voluntarily abandoned the land or 
were exterminated, are questions not determinable upon the 
present meagre data. They have left fortifications and 
cemeteries, which a careful comparison of facts in natural 
history will justify the savant in pronouncing more than eigM 
hundred yearn old. Some of the fortifications were con- 
structed of solid masonry. Rocky fortresses are likely to 
defy speculation as to their antiquity, without hieroglyphieg 
upon them to indicate the period of their construction. 
These fortifications manifest great progress in the art of 
military defence. Lofty sites, flanked by the tortuous sinu- 
osities of rivers, ditches scientifically constructed, earthen- 
ware vessels, queen’s-ware dishes, copper bracelets, and cop- 
per tools for working in wood and stone found in connection 
with the fortresses and ditches, sugge^4i degree of civiliza- 
tion which persons of culture will never associate with th® 


pTAnmcic, 


m 


mdeness and wildness of the North Ameiican Indian 
Several of there admirably constructed] works enclose ter 
acres of ground, and upon the earth, which in places has ac* 
cumulated over the walls, huge trees have grown whos6 
circles indicate p’eat antiquity. The indication of age, 
however, by the circles of trees, is deemed fallible, and the 
true antiquity or unknown character of the builders is ar^ 
rived at or approximated to, by the intrinsic science and 
civilization displayed in the construction of the rock forts 
and the progress made in working copper mines, and manu- 
facturing copper tools and ornaments and queen^s-ware 
dishes. Lines of fortifications crowning elevated clifls indi- 
cate a knowledge of telegraphing by signals or by beacon 
fires the approach of foreign invaders. 

The excavation of the large tumuli in the immediate neigh- 
borhood of some of these fortifications may some day de- 
velop further evidences of the civilization of this lost 
people. These evidences of civilization are frequent in 
North America, but upon the summits of the cliffs and deep 
in the dry caves of this fruitful land, which has been already 
styled the Arabia of the New 'World, they utter most forcibly 
their protest to be respected as the monuments of an ad- 
vanced people far superior to the American savages. One 
cliflT two hundred feet in height, flanked on three sides by 
a stream, is crowned by the rock wall of a great fortress, 
which must have been impregnable without artillery. Here 
was excavated an image of a large bird, carved from stone, 
with several holes driUed through it, and a great quantity of 
sea-shells. This fortress is distant from the ocean four bun 
dred and forty miles, and from a navigable river about eighty 
miles. In several dry caves have been excavated human 
bones of extraordinary size, some of the skulls encasing 
easily the skull of a modern citizen of the country. The 
excavation of ancient crockery at these fortifications is com- 
mon. One mound, which had attracted attention for many 
years, has recently been levelled, and many relics were 
brought to light: one copper and two white queen’s-waro 
breastplates, copper beads, ivory beads, and bracelets of 
copper. Thirty years before the razing of this mound the 
trees grew as larg/^ upon the summit as those in the adja- 
cent forest. The fortifications generally crown almost inac* 
oessible bluifs, are numerous, and usuallj^ include from six to 
t^n «crc8 of the ground. They are included in a tract o 




coaiitrj three hundred juid seventy miles long, with au ave? 
age width of one hundred and ten miles. Outside of thin 
tract, for hundreds of miles in every direction, are similai 
works of masonry or earth spread over the continent. At* 
tention is diverted from this tract of “ the dark and bloody 
ground ” for an instant, for the purpose of refhting auy sup- 
position that the copper tools, ornaments, or breastplates 
were derived from any remote importation from another con- 
tinent, and to demonstrate the utter improbability that the 
American Indians worked copper mines. No student will 
deny that the products of mines have contributed to the ad- 
vancement of the human family, and that the working of 
mines is palpable evidence of civilization. The earliest 
records extant of the condition of the North Ameriban sav- 
age indicate expressly the amount of his mining skill in the 
item of copper. Where that valuable article lay in his path, 
excavated by the hand of nature, he knew not how to turn it 
to account. The Jesuit missionaries and the French voya- 
geurs are the earliest authorities. The missionary Claude 
Alloiiez left Three Rivers in Canada on the 8th of Au- 
gust, 1666, with four hundred Indians. He reached Lake 
Superior in September, and writes; “It happens frequently 
that pieces of copper are found, weighing from ten to twenty 
pounds. I have seen several such pieces in the hands of 
savages, and since they are very superstitious they esteem 
them as divinities, or as presents given to them to promote 
their happiness by the gods who dwell beneath the water. 
For this reason they preserve these pieces of copper wrapped 
up with their most precious articles. In some families they 
have been kept for more than fifty years ; in others they have 
descended from time out of mind, being cherished as domes- 
tic gods.” Father Dablon says, in his “ Relation ” for 1669 : 
“ In cooking their meals, as is usual among the savages, by 
heating stones and casting them into a birch-bark pail con- 
taining water, they found that they were almost all copper ** 
(the stones found on an island in the lake). He relates 
their being poisoned in consequence, and refusing ever after 
to visit the copper island, where the copper gods had mani- 
fested their displeasure at the profane use made of copper 
boulders in heating the water to cook their meats. That 
race of people would hardly have engaged in the wonderfUl 
copper mining of Lake Superior, frequent evidences of 
which are discovered by the present Ameiicum miners in that 


WAXWtCSi. 2ft 

The Intelligent agent of the Minnesota Company, 
in 1847-48, discovered upon their lands, in a longitudinal 
cavern into which he crept, evidences of ancient mining 
He procured assistance, and subsequently explored the cav- 
ern. He found many stone hammers. Subsequently, upon 
excavating to the, depth of eighteen feet through clay and 
decayed vegetation, he discovered a mass of copper ten feet 
long, three feet wide, and two feet thick, weighing more 
than six tons. He excavated about it, and discovered that 
it had been raised five feet out of its native bed. It rested 
on billets of oak, supported by oaken sleepers. Long ex- 
posure to moisture had blackened the oak and rendered 
it soft like peat-bog. The earth which had fallen under sup- 
ported the mass of copper. The ancient miners had squared 
it so that the exposed surfaces were smooth. Under it was 
found the vein from which it had been taken. The rubbish 
from the mine is heaped up in mounds. The north-western 
mounds are frequently razed, exposing copper knives, chisels, 
and stone hammers of immense weight, in the immediate vi- 
cinity of and in the mining excavations themselves. A few 
rods to the west of the huge block of copper that weighed 
six tons the ancient miners left a portion of the \einstone 
iri the form of a pillar, to support the hanging wall. These 
evidences of careful mining are observed for two miles at 
this locality. Upon one of the mounds of rubbish a hem- 
lock had grown, which exliibited three hundred and ninety- 
five annual rings. This carried the nearest date of that 
mining operation back to a day before Columbus started for 
America. In one mine was found a copper gad and chisel, 
and a timber marked by an axe two inches wide. The min- 
ing hammers were of greenstone. One weighed thirty-nine 
pounds. Ten cart-loads of them were gathered in one vi- 
cinity. Charcoal was found in the rock excavations, indicat- 
ing the employment of fire in separating the copper from 
the rock. In the Hartz and at Altenberg in Europe, fire is 
still employed in mining. Humboldt states that nine hundred 
miles west of Montreal, in 1746, M. de Verandrier discovered 
enormous masses of rock elevated by men, on which he found a 
tablet inserted in a pillar of cut stone, which bore an inscrip- 
tion supposed to be Tartar. Jesuits in Quebec informed 
Kahn that they had seen it. It was sent to Count Maurepas 
in France, and is lost or laid aside neglected. It may have 
been t record of the stone fortress builders of Kentucky os 


m 


WAMmOK. 


the copper miiiersi before Coliimbwfi, who supplied their 
fenders with copper breastplates and copper tools. 

The Icelandic historians may be correct in their state 
ment that a colony was planted on the southerly coast ol 
North America, at Whiteman’s land, or Irland it Mikla< 
Greater Ireland, which existed as late as the year 1000. 
They state that a pagan Icelander was driven there in 983, 
and was baptized in that colony. They are also authority 
for the statement that Eric was a missionary in Vinland 
(probably near Newport) ; that he returned to Iceland in 
1120, sailed to Europe, and by the Scandinavian bishops 
was consecrated at Lund in Denmark, by Archbishop Ad- 
zer, in 1121, and sent back to found an American See. 
He returned to Vinland with a body of clergy and colo- 
nists. They state, also, that John^ a missionary, sailed 
from Iceland to Vinland, and was slain by the heathen. 
The Royal Society of Northern Antiquarians, in their mo* 
raoirs, state: “The ancient tUolus in Newport, the erec- 
tion of whtch appears to be coeval with the time of Bishop 
Eric, belonged to a Scandinavian church, or monastery, 
where, in alternation with Latin masses, the old Danish 
tongue was heard seven hundred years ago.” 

The speculations of the learned Forster, in his “ Northern 
Voyages,” may also be allowed to drop their mantle of fable. 
The tribe which exists in the interior of Newfoundland, so 
different from the American savages and the eternal enemies 
of the Esquimaux, may be the descendants of the ancient 
Normans. The Saga of Suorro, of 1215, may be true. The 
Veter is Grcelandise Descriptio, Hafnia, 1706 ; and Historia 
Winlandim Antiquae, Ilafnia, 1705, transmitted to us by 
Torfeeus, ma}^ be Ammcan history. The extracts from 
Ilackluyt regarding the statements of Antonio Zeno, the 
Venetian, derived from the fisherman shipwrecked on the 
American coast, may finally be exalted to the dignity of his- 
tory. “The inhabitants were intelligent and acquainted 
with the mechanical arts of Europe. They cultivated grain, 
made beer, and lived in houses built of stone. There were 
Latin books in the king’s library, though the inhabitants had 
no knowledge of that language. They were taken by the 
Inhabitants and carried to a Mr and populous city ; a man 
was found who had likewise been cast away upon the coast 
and who spoke Latin. They had many cities and caHUs^ and 
carried on a trade with Greenland ror pitch, and 




peltry. Though much given to navigation, they were igno» 
rant of the use of the compass, and finding the Friselanders 
acquainted with it, held them in great esteem, and the king 
sent them with twelve barks to visit a country to the south, 
called Drogeo. They found the people to be cannibals in 
Drogeo. The fisherman described this Drogeo as being a 
country of vast extent, or, rather, anew world ; that the in- 
habitants were naked and barbarous ; but that far to the 
south-west there was a more civilized region, and temperate 
c’imate, where the inhabitants had a knowledge of gold and 
silver, lived in cities, erected splendid temples to idols, and 
sacrificed human victims to them, which they afterwards de- 
voured.” M. Malte-Brun surmises the civilized people to the 
south-west, who sacrificed human victims in rich temples, to 
have been the Mexicans, or some ancient nation of Florida, 
or Louisiana. Forster resents the attempts to condemn these 
statements as fabulous, “ as original acts in the archives of 
Venice prove that the chevalier undertook a voyage to the 
North ; that his brother Antonio followed him ; that Antonio 
traced a map which he brought back, and hung up in his 
house, where it remained subject to public examination until 
the time of Marcolini,” by whom the statements were given 
to the world. 

The rapidly accumulating evidence points to the ancient 
settlement of America at three different points. People 
from the North of Europe, by way of Greenland, settled in 
the north-eastern portion. Central America, by her splendid 
monuments, indicates a far more ancient settlement from 
India or Africa. The splendor of her temples in ruins at 
Palenqua and its immediate neighborhood, upon which are 
distinctly visible sacred emblems of Egypt and India, the 
far more elegant stone sculpture on the outer walls of the 
palace or temple in the mountains which border the west 
side of Yucatan, the several pyramids larger than that of 
Teotihuacan, all more learned in their execution and re- 
markable in theh* type than Palenqua, described by Stevens, 
— all justify the speculations of Humboldt, Clarigero, and 
Bullock, that Mexico, centuries before the Spanish invasion 
in 1520, was populous, wealthy, industrious, and remarkably 
civilized. At the Spanish invasion Mexico was a large and 
populous city ; the palace and court of Montezuma was 
splendid; the public buildings were vast and ornamental. 
It boasted highways, bridges, public baths, and pyramids 
SO 


m 


WAMWtCK, 


for worship high in air. Bullock saw an ancient plan of tha 
city, proving that it was far more extensive than at present 
When the Spaniards first came in contact with the Mexicans 
they found them possessed of a calendar more accurate than 
that of the Greeks and Romans. Their hieroglyphics were 
little inferior to those of Egypt. The traditions of the 
Mexicans declared that their country was first settled by 
tribes from the North, several centuries before the Spanish 
conquest, as early as 640. The tradition of the Choctaws, 
according to the authority of Henry Vose of Mississippi, 
gave their migration ^fi’om Asia, by the Straits of Behring, 
8286 years ago. They mentioned a remarkably long night, 
which must have occurred at the Straits of Behring, at the 
time of the long day of Joshua in Judea. Herodotus relates 
that the record of such an event was extant in Egypt when 
he visited that country, corresponding in time with the 
scriptural statement. The Chinese note a similar phenom- 
enon at the same time. The Asiatic origin of the Indiana 
receives confirmation from daily developing proofs in the 
comparison of their traditions, ceremonies, language, and 
superstitions. Catlin, the Indian painter, and his compan- 
ion, witnessed a religious ceremony of the Maudans. The 
tradition was that a stranger came to them from the West, 
who had escaped a great flood in his canoe by landing on 
the summit of a lofty mountain. The season of the cere- 
mony is the budding of the willow. The reason they assign 
is, that the bird flew back with a sprig of willow. On fur- 
ther questioning, they stated the bird was a mourning dove. 
Another Indian tradition is connected with the “ enchanted 
mountain,” linked with the Blue Ridge mountains of Georgia. 
Dr. Stevenson, of Dahlonega, states that on the upper rocks 
of this mountain are one hundred and thirty six impressions 
of human feet, and the feet of animals. The human feet are 
from four inches to seventeen inches and a half in length. 
The largest human foot has six toes. A fine, delicate hand 
is traced deeply in the rock. Horse-tracks are plainly vis- 
ible, and the tracks of many turkeys, turtles, terrapins, 
bears, a snake, and two deer. (Human footprints in the 
rocks of Kentucky and Missouri are distinctly visible, and 
perfect copies have been taken by savans.) An Indian 
tradition says of the “ enchanted mountain,” that “ the 
world was once deluged by water, and man and all being! 
were destroyed except one family, together with varioui 


W^AMWrCX. 


Sdl 

animals necessary to replenish the earth; that the great 
canoe once rested on this spot, and here the whole troop 
disembarked, leaving the impression on the rocks, softened 
by the long submersion.” Stevenson states that he visited 
these rocks, and cut out an impression of one human foot. 
The rock was an imperfect species of soapstone, and he be- 
lieved the impressions to be a production of art. School- 
craft took accurate copies of the rock-prints in Missouri. 
Twelve miles from Gumming, Georgia, are large ancient 
mounds, or tumuli, and in the vicinity is an unhewn mass of 
granite, eight and a half feet long, two and a half feet wide, 
and three-sided, with irregular, converging points. Numerous 
characters are inscribed upon it, — seventeen of them varying 
in shape. The largest circles are eight inches in diameter. 
The designs are very regular, very ancient in appearance, 
and are ascribed to the same ancient race who constructed 
the immense sacrificial mounds in the State. The traditions 
of the Mexicans uniformly pointed to the North as the 
home of their ancestry at a great distance, and in a very 
remote period. On the Mississippi, the Missouri, and the 
Ohio, are numerous indications of a vast population in ages 
long past. The mounds of New York have disclosed similar 
crockery, tools, and ornaments to the tumuli of the Southern 
and Western States. Thus far, examination and learning 
point to the Tartar race for the origin of these lost national- 
ities spreading from the Gulf of Mexico to the North Pole. 

But when the elegance of the monuments below the Gulf 
of Mexico receives careful attention, the glimmering light 
of an immense antiquity startles, and the assertions of in- 
credulity are hushed in the wonderful resemblances mani- 
fested upon the immemorial temples and pyramids to the 
ancient mysteries and symbols of Egypt, and that common 
source of all the arts, India. Surrounded by the great 
waste of waters, stand these wonderful tokens of art and 
culture, suggesting a people familiar with navigation, and 
realizing in their glory the strange and mystic traditions of 
the classical ages. Here, manifestly, was the seat of that 
ancient power which terrified the East, and was hurled 
backward, baffled by Pelasgic arms and valor. Here was 
that wonderful confederacy of ten associated kingdoms, 
whose harmony and splendor the ancients loved so well to 
portray. Here were the wide-spread forests, the luxuriant 
pastures, the rich mines of precious metals, and the min 


m 


if^Afncjc. 


eral springs bursting from the earth at the beneficent touch 
of the deities. The spacious harbors sheltered the richly 
laden barques of every clime, and the arsenals held every 
equipment for successful navigation and maritime vrarfare. 
Like glorious Rome this power culminated, and in her do» 
dine was hurried to ruin by the storm of northern bar- 
barians, who severed her provinces and swept down upois 
her centre like the scowl of an avenging deity. 


(tljaptfr XIF. 

^8 the great art of life to manage well 

The restless mind. Forever on pursuit 

Of knowledge bent, it starves the grosser powers. 

ABMBTSOira. 

When the curiosity and will of Constant Earle were once 
aroused nothing could divert him from his purpose. He 
possessed the family trait which had given his ancestors 
wealth. Nothing could discourage him. The plan once 
entered upon must be worked out. He might drop with 
weariness and over-exertion, but as surely as the morning 
brought light so certainly did hope rise as another sun. He 
had started in the career of authorship ; never would he 
leave it until success crowned his efforts, or the arms of 
death clasped him. Every hour that his schools left him 
did he toil at his manuscripts. His book was approaching 
completion; no human possibility of securing its publica- 
tion was manifest. No matter! Persevere unto the end, 
and then speculate upon the means of securing its issue to 
the world. Every time the anxiety of that publication 
crossed him, he shook it off and worked on. In the la^ 
stages of his work a temporary diversion, a single hour of 
the evening, occupied him. He was deciphering the mystic 
weight of brass. That diversion had assumed the dignity 
of a research. The brass, too, had become an object of his 
will. He had hastily adopted his premises, and was work- 
ing upon that base. Without clue he had assumed the cir- 
cular face of the brass to be the world ; the weight was an 
jiutique. Hence, the probability was, that he h^ adopted 


WABWICK, 


Improper premises ; as the impression of scholars was that 
the sphericity of the world was unknown to the ancients 
But he had assumed the intelligence of antiquity. If that 
assumption produced no fniit he had only to assume again. 
The investigation was a diversion of thought from his book ; 
and this is a species of rest. He had located the figures he 
had assumed to be Egyptian pyramids in their proper half 
of the world. The figures beside them were Egyptians. 
The isolated man, pointing at the Greek word, was a Greek 
on the island of Salamis. There had the antique been found. 
The two Egyptians, and the single Greek, pointed towards 
the Occident, — towards the Western hemisphere. What 
did the ancients know of hemispheres? No matter. The 
loffCa^ at the foot of the Greek, was a mystery. It wae wis- 
dom, no doubt. But wisdom without direction, — a vague, 
purposeless knowledge to him. But his assumed ancients 
were pointing, according to his polar arrangement of the 
weight, towards a real country, his own native land. Could 
this possibly be correct, sensible, plausible ? He glanced at 
the records of the past, and found that great learning, 
scientific and geographical, had been lost to the European 
nations, which had not been lost to mankind. He recalled 
what he had forgotten, that learning found refuge in Africa ; 
that the Arabian sages, at Senaar, had taken the measure^ 
ment of a degree of latitude, and were calculating the cir- 
cumference of the world, while Europe was trifling. Pliny, 
Pomponius Mela, and Strabo had a hearing again ; they 
had possessed considerable knowledge of geography. Per- 
haps the ancients behind them knew something. What was 
the winged globe of the Egyptians? Was sphericity a 
characteristic of the Deity only ? When once he had as- 
sumed the Western hemisphere as the object of that mys- 
terious and combined pointing of the brazen trio, he con- 
nected the symbols rapidly. K that object was America, 
then the long, irregular line was the sea-coast; the wavy 
line be3^ond, a range of mountains ; then springs beyond ; 
then a forest ; then something too large for an elephant, — a 
mastodon, perhaps. Then that mysterious hole with the an- 
tique lamps circling it, — what was that emblematical of ? 
He took a map, extended the pointing fingers of the Egyp- 
tians and the Greek until they met, and found they were 
pointing out through the gate of the Mediterranean between 
the pillars of Hercules. That line extended would stniee 


WARWICK, 


i34 

the coast of North America. Then he climbeti the Blu€ 
Ridge mountains, in imagination, passed on through the 
region of Salt Springs, and came to the forest. Was it the 
forest? It had no tops. It must be a Kentucky cane* 
brake. If so, the animal was surely a mammoth. Had not 
one locality of that country alone produced more bones and 
tusks than would set up in full glory one hundred of those 
huge breasts ? If a mammoth, what else could his eyes be 
looking into than the Mammoth Cave ? That must be the 
hole around which it was necessary to place lamps. Could 
the ancients have known of the existence of that wonderful 
cavern? Is there anything new under the sun? If this 
surmise was correct as to the cave, then his former sacred 
bull and crocodile of Egypt were no more nor less than 
symbols of regions on the Mississippi River. The cave was 
a little to the eastward of, or between, the range of the 
bison and the alligator. He laughed at this conclusion. It 
brought the ancients so ludicrously close to home. “ I won- 
der if the Egyptians could have known of the existence of 
America ? ” This question became a serious study. In the 
investigation of this subject he familiarized himself with the 
mass of historical items and antiquarian data which lead to 
the conclusions of lost nationalities mentioned in the last 
chapter. The continent is stocked with curious data for the 
learned and the inquisitive in this department of science. 

The deeper he probed this matter, the more interesting did 
it become to him. It was evident that, no matter how ad- 
vanced in civilization the ancient inhabitants of “ the dark 
and bloody ground ” might have been, they all were eclipsed 
by the central light emanating from the seat of science and 
the arts which unquestionably had been located in Yucatan. 
The people to the North may have been tributary nations de- 
riving their knowledge and light from that centre, or, what 
was more probable, had been a race that had sprung to civil- 
ization long after the central light was quenched, — a race 
mounting to culture and science from a Tartar origin, and 
overwhelmed by a new rush of their original stock from the 
North-west, which had swept away their semi-civilized nar 
tionality. Allowing the truth of the last conjecture, how 
ancient must have been the nationality of Yucatan? Might 
it not have been coeval with the Kingdom of Egypt? Might 
•' ^'sntral America have known a primitive Menes ? Whi^ 


fTAltmCJt. 


mi 

face had planned its singular architecture? Were they au* 
tochthonic or had they been wafted across the sea? 

He turned with increasing ardor to the study of the Central 
American monuments. Their sculpture and architecture and 
religious symbolism were in several respects indicative of 
Egyptian or East Indian origin. There was the sacred ape 
of Egypt which was known as Hepi or the god of death. 
There was the winged globe, which was the Egyptian emblem 
of the Deity, The priests ministering at the altar had the 
singularity of being without beards, which Rosselin states 
occasioned surprise among the Asiatics as to the Egyptian 
hierarchy. The American priests wore leopard-skin cloaks 
like their prototypes on the Nile. The peculiarity of the 
receding forehead was common to both. In common with 
India and Egypt Central America exhibited in her religious 
sculpture the sacred lotus. Among the East Indians and 
Egyptians the cross appeared in their ceremonies, and was 
carved in the walls of their temples, sometimes as a cross of 
Malta and sometimes in the shape of a T. The monuments 
of Palenqua exhibit both, and frequently. A cross was in the 
temple of Serapis as the emblem of the eternal life, and the 
priests pointed it out to the victorious army of Theodosius 
as an argument to save their temple from destruction. On 
the back wall of the altar, casa No, 2, at Palenqua, the cross 
surmounted by a strange bird is the central object of wor« 
ship, flanked by two priests offering sacrifice whose sym* 
metry of proportion is equal to the carving on the ruined 
temples of Egypt. The Central Americans had also obe- 
lisks, colossal stone-heads and tall statues suggesting that 
character and expression of repose which is immediately 
recognized on the stone faces of Egypt. The traditions of 
the Toltecan Indians in Central America give their descent 
from the house of Israel, who were freed from the dominion 
of Pharaoh by Moses, but subsequently fell into idolatry and 
abandoned Moses, under the guidance of Tanub their chief. 
They claim to have travelled from one continent to another 
until they reached Central America, where they found an* 
dent nations. The Spanish historians gained these tradi- 
tions from the writings of caciques, whom they first taught 
to write. The caciques gave a line of twenty monarchs 
from Tanub down to Tecum Uman. Dupaix and Del Rio at 
once pronounced in favor of the immense antiquity of the 
palace or temple of Palenqua. Stevens declared that soma 


fS^AM^Ck. 


of the atituea discovered approached the symmetry and 
beauty of the Greek models. 

If wandering tribes from the fold of Israel had indeed 
reached this far-oflf laud, they would, in their symbols of 
idolatrous worship, conform in some respects to the peciili* 
arities of that Egypt whose idolatry they had learned.^ But 
would the ancient Egyptians be likely to know of the exist- 
ence of their own worship in a distant hemisphere ? Did 
they know of it? The last question approximated to a solu- 
tion when the nun-like scholar came one evening of winter to 
the school-room of Constant Earle, and pointed out to him a 
passage from the history of Ancient Greece, which he had 
counselled her to read. He was startled by the pertinency 
of the historical fact to his subject of investigation. 

“You have discovered the keystone for my arch which 
has spanned the Atlantic. This fact was once known to me, 
but has long been forgotten. Solon did visit Egypt, there 
became intimate with the great priests Psenophis, the Helio- 
politan, and Senchis, the Saite. They were the most learned 
r:f all the priests of Egypt, and from them he first heard of 
dhe Atlantic Isle. He attempted to describe that far-off land 
to the Grecians in a poem. And now I recall also the fact 
that Plato wrote a poem descriptive of the mysterious land, 
which he left unfinished. Plato’s mother was a descendant 
of the brother of Solon. He finished a part of his poem from 
Solon’s memoirs. He described the Atlantic Island as being 
situated in the Atlantic Ocean, and believed it to be larger 
than Asia and Africa. There is another historian, Diodorus 
Siculus, who informs the world that it was reported that a 
Carthaginian discovered this land, and made it certain death 
for any one to settle in it. Plato, following the facts gainM 
from his relative, Solon, described a glorious land laid out 
in magnificent courts, with temples, palaces, and statues, and 
flourishing in all the elegance and grandeur of power and 
art. Solon learned from the Egyptian priests that in an- 
cient times the powerful and warlike people of Atlantia 
extended their career of conquest to the borders of even 
Egypt and Greece, but were overthrown by the armies of 
Ancient Greece, and at length confined to the limits of their 
own country. You have given me a perfect clue. My prem- 
ises must be correct. Now what is the ulterior secret or 
signification of this brass relic?” 

She had drawn near to his desk as on other evenings, and 


WJLMWWJr. 


m 

tkovt with joy dancing in her beautiful eyes sat watching the 
effect her discovery was ha's iiig upon the teacher. She could 
not avoid perceiving the increased pallor of his countenance. 
He had evidently been engaged in night study, denying him- 
self adequate rest and sleep until he was threatened with 
that illness and prostration which ever attend upon the 
violation of nature's laws. She had jnoted all this, but 
nevertheless joy beamed in her eyes to witness his enthu- 
siasm and exultation at the historical clue she had been able 
to furnish. 

“ You must rest, Mr. Earle ; the marks of excessive toil 
upon your face are so manifest that I tremble for your 
health. Will nothing induce you to care for that precious 
boon which God has so kindly given you ? Has no one in- 
fluence over you? I never see you with any friend. You 
appear always so lonely. Do stop for my sake then. True, 
I am a stranger and have no claims upon your attention. 
But it distresses me to see you overtasking your powers. 
Will you not, for the sake of your pupil, desist from your 
book for a little while ? I shall have to leave this delightful 
evening school before many weeks. You may never see me 
again, and I feel that I ought, while I am still with you, to 
urge you to rest. Will you ? ” 

He looked up quickly to those eloquent eyes. 

“ You are going to leave my school soon? For what? " 

“ Why, Mr. Earle, ou knew I could not remain here for- 
ever. I have my career in life, and you know why I came 
to you. It was to qualify m^^self to teach.” 

“ But I cannot part with you. You are the only night 
scholar in whom I have taken any interest.” 

“Will you miss the poor mutilated governess?” 

She could not face the brilliant intensity of the gaze he" 
was giving her. Her eyes drooped. 

“Miss you? God knows I will miss you. Your whole 
life, wherever you go, will be of interest to me. Would I 
could help you in this life-struggle I You know not what 
you are assuming. I have seen the struggles of a governess 
to please and I have known the hard life many of them lead, 
shut out from sympathy, expected to answer for what is no 
part of themsefves, the lack of brains or the obstinacy of 
children Indeed, I hope you may chance to meet with a 
family who idn appreciate you, can realize that yon h;iv« 
and delicftt<» sensilHiities like other people." 


m 


WJiMWTCX. 


“ I am a resolute character, Mr. Earle, and I realize that 
* life is real, life is earnest.* I do not fear for myself, and 
I believe in the goodness of God. If I aim to do my best» 
he will not leave me utterly destitute of peace and happi- 
ness. But I am glad that you will miss me. It is so pleas- 
ant to be remembered.’* She paused an instant and played 
with the end of her pencil, rolling it back and forth between 
her thumb and finger with her eyes cast down. Then she 
said, suddenly, “You have said that you will take an inter- 
est in me ; will you not, then, for my sake, desist from night 
study for a while? ** She played on with the pencil, and he 
noted the whiteness and delicacy of her hand. It was a 
model for a Greek sculptor. What in the inscrutable wis- 
dom of Providence had been the divine motive for disfiguring 
so fair and graceful a girl ? Poor creature ! her misfortune 
in this cruel world would only aggravate the hardness of her 
lot. Her beauty could not plead for her before men. He 
was deeply moved by her gentleness, her amiable character, 
her persevering and wonderful mastery of the Spanish lan- 
guage, and her innate talent, grasping and comprehending 
everything in the realm of science that his superior attain- 
ments suggested in conversation. He said at length, after 
watching the movements of her hand, her downcast face, and 
her nun-like garb : — 

“ I ought to rest. I will rest more since you take the 
trouble to be interested in me. But I must finish my book 
while the inspiration is upon me, else it will be very tame, 
and I intend this book to be a success.” 

“Will you publish it soon?” 

He caught that glorious light of genius from her eyes as 
she looked up in inquiry. The great world which was to be 
her task-master would not pronounce them mutilated. 
They were eyes to dwell forever in the memory of one upon 
whom they had once beamed in interest. He evaded her 
inquiry, unwilling to avow his poverty, and responded : — 

“ I hope to be able to publish it soon.” 

She supposed he alluded to the completion of his manu- 
scripts. She knew little of that after struggle when a book 
is finished, and an author contends in that discouraging 
arena with the publishers. She knew little of that sickening 
round of ellbrts made to have talent recognized by the pub- 
lishers, to induce them to see pecuniary profit in a new 
liteaary venture. She knew little of that cold, basiness-lik# 


WARWICK, 


Response, “ Sir, we have more manuscripts presetii6d every 
day for our inspection than we could hope to read if oui 
whole time was devoted to reading alone.” 

“ I will get the book when it comes out. What will b6 
^he name of it ? ” 

“ Polymnia, The name is derived from two Greek 
words, TtoXufTy signifying much^ and fiveia, memory, Polymnia 
was the muse that watched over the memory of events, and 
the establishment of truth.” 

“ It is a strange title for a book. But I like it. I like 
everything that has significance. But what will you do if 
your book is not a success ? All books do not succeed.” 

“ Write another. I have the perseverance of Tamerlane. 
He persisted in his efforts when all his friends were in 
despair. I shall succeed, if God spares my life. I will not 
be trampled down in an honest purpose, a true effort to 
benefit my race. If, through the medium of fiction — which 
the careless will read — I can reiterate one great truth, or 
fix in the memory one historical fact, or stimulate one mind 
to literary improvement, I shall do well. ' I will not truckle 
to vice, nor will I be diverted from any auxiliary which vir- 
tue may lawfully bring to her aid. I do not write for the 
fool’s cap of to-day. My laurels may be distant, but they 
shall be sullied with no memory of corruption, no immo- 
rality instilled by the touch of my pen. Truth and honor 
and virtue are just as glorious to-day as in the past. Every 
gift and every accomplishment in the Interest of virtue are 
as essential to-day as they have been In any golden age of 
truth. I will never despair of success, and, when my lamp 
flickers out, the reward is with God. I shall endeavor tc 
live justly, and employ my allotment of life as I believe 
most conducive to the benefit of others.” 

She listened carefully to him, appreciated fully hie earnest* 
ness, and then said : — 

“As modern society is constituted, it appears that the 
majority discredit everything that is noble, and believe aU 
that is base. You have to contend with this prejudice, for 
within the area of what is called society you must look for 
patronage. There you will find selfishness enthroned. Love 
of scandal, love of dress, love of notoriety secured at any 
oost, and love of novelty the most absurd and sinful, are the 
motive powers ; and, unless you truckle to these, or some 
Cine of these, your book will receive the cold shoulder, yoiu 


powers will be aselessly wasted, and you will sink into thii 
grave without influence and without honor.” 

“ ITou paraphrase admirably,” he replied, “ the language 
of the temptation. The devil said, ‘ If thou therefore wilt 
worship me, all shall be thine.’ I admit the force of your 
reasoning. I know how clearly you recognize my difficul- 
ties as an author writing for modern society. But yield I 
never will. If there is not beauty and sublimity enough to 
be found within the pale of moral literature to chain the 
attention of readers, then wither hand and crumble pen. I 
will starve before my books shall spread contagion, for I am 
the champion of truth and purity. Never will I trample 
over sacred memories of moral integrity and beauty to reach 
a false temple where literary vice is crowned.” 

She smiled that dubious smile which so often had puzzled 
him. He never knew, when that smile preceded her words, 
whether she was engaged in banter or earnestness. A satir- 
ical vein quietly coursed through her conversation. He fau- 
cied he had detected it often before. 

“ I have heard or read somewhere,” she said, “ that 
oratory is the power to talk people out of their sober and 
matured opinions. You have that dangerous talent, I think, 
Mr. Earle. You vindicate the claims of virtuous talent 
admirably ; but, notwithstanding your disclaimer of an inten- 
tion to seek literary reputation otherwise than through legit- 
imate channels, you may discover, upon a rigid analysis of 
your manuscripts, that some pleasant sop has been thrown 
to Cerberus. The approbation of society is a powerful in- 
centive to literary effort. Have you sugar-coated no weak- 
ness of the human family ? Have you draped no heroine in 
the height of the fashion, whose elegant skirts and elaborate 
toilet may weaken some poor girl’s zest for her evening 
prayers ? Have you painted the humble cottage in the same 
glamour that hovers around your palace ? If not, Christianity 
will say that you have not packed off all your treasures for 
heaven, but have left some elegant trifles around earthly 
temples to dazzle the hearts of the young and the thought- 
less.” 

“ You would narrow me down to the virtue of the Spartan 
lawgiver who, to banish the love of riches and display, pro- 
hibited the use of gold and silver, and substituted iron 
money.” 

“Exactly,” she responded, with a raerry laugh. ** I Amb- 


Pf'AItmCM, 


m 


cled y©ur moral novel would have n worldly flaw in it. 
Talent builds for eternity ; tact, on a short lease, and gets 
good interest. It is an old saw that.” 

“ It is a saw then that St. Paul was proud of. He is good 
enough authority for me,” r 'spoiided Earle, a trifle annoyed. 

“ He was only the depu^ % Mr. Earle. His principal pro- 
nounced a higher euloglun- i.pon Christian talent unalloyed 
with tact, which savors of aanger. ‘ But whoso shall offend 
one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better 
for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck ; * and 
again, ‘Woe unto the world because of offences, for it must 
needs be that offences come ; but woe to that man by whom 
the offence cometh.* If your morality in your book is not 
thoroughly fortified against frivolity, you may do incalcula- 
ble mischief while seeking to inculcate a great truth. But 
don’t look so annoyed about it ; I have onty been quizzing.” 

She looked up in the full splendor of her pleading eyes, 
and his anno3^ance vanished. 

“ You are a natural-born teaze. But I shall feel lost when 
you come here no more in the evening. Don’t go yet.” 

“ Yes, I must. I am later than usual ; ” and with a kind- 
ly smile towards the teacher she was gone. That mysterious 
smile pleased and haunted him. 


ttfjapter XXVf, 

Wtth p«tiienoe aati penerenoM the leftf of the mnlberry-tree beoomee satin. 

Arabian Protnbb. 

At last it was finished. What a relief I There lay the 
pile of manuscripts before him in one solid mass ; every 
chapter was properly headed, punctuated, and all ques- 
tionable letters reformed or marked over, that the printer 
might have no excuse for mistakes. Polymnia was com- 
pleted. It was the result of weary hours stolen from rest 
and sleep. He had been faithful to his scholars and to the 
trust reposed in him by their parents. He had been faith- 
ftil to the poor girls who came to him in the evenings to 
qualify themselves to earn their bread by teaching. He 
had been faithM to the memory of his Christian mother in 

n 


WJJftWRJJL. 


m 

heaven. He had struggled to be faithful to his God., ii 
misfortune and poverty he had turned again to the God of 
his childhood, and sought to atone for the lost years of his 
life by a firm, persistent career of virtue. His labors as a 
public teacher had secured him a humble support. But he 
wa.s independent. It was a trying employment for nerves 
and patience to teach and manage a school-room of active, 
restless boys. But he had given satisfaction, and when his 
school-bills were all presented and settled his rent would be 
paid, every expense cleared off, and he would be owner of a 
small amount of money, free from debt. This was living, 
humble, it is true, but independent living. The labor upon 
his manuscripts was aspiration. Perhaps he might win 
renown, ampler funds, position. 

But there lay the unsolved problem before him, the 
tediously wrought, pain-marked book. Would the world 
respect kais labor? Would critics appreciate the mental 
toil? Would he be generously recognized among the broth- 
erhood of letters? Could any critic, who in the nib of his 
editorial pen held his literary fate, appreciate that death- 
grapple with poverty and an overworked brain when he fell 
exhausted, senseless, before the dread phrenitis ? Could any 
generous critic realize how earnestly and ardently he had 
struggled with despair? It would soon be known, provided 
he could overcome the huge obstacle, receive the friendly 
grasp of an appreciative publisher. Where should he turn 
now? The publisher of “Murmurs from the Deep Sea” 
had seen enough of “ Iconoclast ” and his literary efforts. 
He must find a new publisher. Who should the man be that 
was to herald the advent of a new literary light ? He pon- 
dered the whole subject, examined it in every light, grew 
alternately hopeM and faint under the prospect. He rose 
up from his desk to his full, manly height. A wild yearn- 
ing to be something in the world possessed him. “ I will 
succeed if I persevere ; it is the edict of the past and the 
present. There is no such word as fail unless God with- 
stands me. I will aim so to live that he will aid me. I 
will cling to his church, to his promises, to his counsels. 
I will live without sin, patient, long-suffering, forgiving, 
charitable, I will strive to love my neighbor as myself, to 
pity him in misfortune, to aid him to lighten his burden. 
I will persevere, trusting in God for help. If this book fails 
I win writ® again and until something is wrought by 


WAMWICK, 


24d 

my pen that will do good to men and honor my memory 
when I am gone. Never despair. It is the twin sister of 
sin and presumption. Trust in God and manfully struggle. 
‘ I have never seen the righteous forsaken nor his seed beg* 
ging bread.* Was that word spoken to cheer and to comfort 
and stimulate men to live near to God ? Then rest on the 
Omnipotent arm. Be true to every noble instinct and trust 
God.** 

Hush I What was that premonitory shiver that crossed 
him; that undefined horror; that faintness of heart? Did 
the ministering spirit of his angel-mother pass near him 
to warn him of approaching evil, calamity, and cautiou 
him of the double armor of trust in God he must buckle 
on for the danger which was so soon to assail him ? Did 
he instinctively shiver at the trial of hi» patience so close 
at hand ? How could he know it, foresee ic, and grow faint ? 
Perhaps it was only the reaction of hope. He might fail, 
and that most signally. But whatever caused the despon- 
dency, it came. Some vague omen of impending evil shook 
its dusky wings in his face. He endeavored to rid himself 
of the sudden depression. He walked to the window. The 
sunbeams flooded the street. He had no secular duty to 
perform. It was Saturday. He struggled hard to conquer 
the sudden gloom of despair. The prospect was dark 
enough, Heaven knows. He was about to leave his silent 
actiool-room for the street, and penetrate to the heart of the 
city, where the publishers display their wares. He was 
about to enter the mart where brains are weighed, appraised, 
and purchased. For every ounce of merchantable brains 
would be given an ounce of bread. For ever}^ sentiment 
clothed in a new and gold-leaf garb means to buy food 
would be given, provided some favorite and successful au- 
thor was not wholly engrossing the attention of the market, 
or some regular contributor to the publisher’s list had been 
dilatory in bringing forward his manuscripts. In some 
crevice of the book trade he might be able to shove in his 
manuscripts for examination, Even then the chances were 
that they would be returned as unsalable. An ocean of 
brains surges about the oflice of every leading publisher, but 
a few waves only are admitted. 

But despair is a niggardly provider. He wins who faces 
and wrestles with obstacles. Constant Earle turned sud- 
denly from the window. It was his way when a purpose 


WAnWTCX, 


S44 

was taken. His executiTO movements were rapid. H« 
crossed to the desk, folded a wrapping-paper about his 
manuscripts, and wrote upon it in broad, clear letters, “Po- 
lymnia.” Underneatli the title he traced his own full name 
Then he took his hat and walked down to the street, bear- 
ing the bundle under his arm. He walked briskly on, whis- 
pering, “ God grant me patience under adversity, and 
strength to be a Christian in every trial.” 

He traversed the intervening streets, and emerged at 
length upon the broad and busy thoroughfares. It was a 
stirring sight. Every one was out, and the elegant carriages 
flashed on every side in the sun. The graceful aud the 
beautiful, the affluent and the richly attired, were out in full 
glory. That had been the sphere of his birth and his life, 
that splendor of dress and equipage. He passed the lofty 
club-house. He was a member of that club. No young man 
had been more renowned in that easy society of gentlemen. 
None of the members knew where he had gone. All knew 
the rumor of his disinherison, but so profound was the re- 
spect entertained for his character, so generous and manly 
had he ever proved himself, even in the midst of his dis- 
sipation, that no one hinted at the erasion of his name from 
the list of membership. The payment of his dues had been 
neglected ; but every member would have hissed at the 
idea that the debt would not some day be paid. They knew 
his stanch integrit3^, and, in a social club blending all ele- 
ments of character. Constant Earle was pitied, respected, 
aud by many looked for eagerly. 

He passed the club-house with averted face. It was 
human nature. He had been wont to whirl up to the front 
of that elegant resort with a “ turn-out ” which was the ad- 
miration of all beholders. He was now a pedestrian, — 
poor, struggling. It was a revolution of the laws of nature, 
^at could strip that man of his elegance, his princely port, 
his ^acefulness. Every inch of that bearing was present 

him now. Turning aside his face, wearing poor gar- 
ments, bearing a huge bundle under his arm, could no more 
disguise Constant Earle from his former acquaintances than 
a fly can disguise the sun. There are some men, and some 
vomen, upon whom is stamped the elegance of birth for a 
lifetime. Care, anxiety, poverty, can never eradicate the 
original impression. Like the Etrascan gems, whose source 
can be recognized after the lapse of ages, and amid the doit 


WAMWKM, 


And debris of lost cities. He had nearly passed bcyoad the 
range of the club-house windows, and was moving on, filled 
with memories of the pleasant acquaintances and the easy 
times he had known in those elegant rooms, when a voioa 
behind him called out, “Constant Earle, stop! Where are 
you driving so fast, old fellow ? Wait for me.” 

He turned to behold a young gentleman, dressed in the 
height of the fashion, who had just emerged from the club- 
house. The meeting could not be avoided. His old com- 
rade had sought for him. He extended h^js hand cordially. 
Those fingers knew no other than a warm grip for an old 
friend. 

“I am glad to see you, Harry Codman. Very happy 
indeed.” 

“ And so am I, Constant, my dear boy. I heard that 
you had been frightfully unfortunate, and I have been won- 
dering where you harbored. I was sure you would come to 
me the first thing ; I just knew you would. I felt that witJi 
all your pride you couldn’t keep away from Harry (k)dman ; 
and I was priding myself upon what an honor it would be 
to loan you several thousand dollars until you could see 
your way out. You knew that my hither left me more than 
two millions. You had every right in the world to come to 
me. You have helped me out of many a tight place, and 
stuck by me like a brother ; and I think it was very cruel 
of you never to come near me, when you knew how honored 
I would be to do you a temporary favor. My God ! how you 
have suffered in mind and body I What is that under your 
arm? Where are you going, and what are you doing? " 

The free, generous, outspoken kindness of this young 
debauchee’s heart was too much for him. The affluent 
friends, who had shared his father’s hospitality and business 
assistance, who sat about his father’s pew in the church, 
and were linked to him by blood and by marriage, had 
never condescended to offer him a helping hand, never vol- 
unteered to secure him a business position, never paid any 
more attention to the outcast son than if he had been a dog. 
And here was an extravagant young man, whom every one 
styled a spendthrift, and declared ultimate poverty for in 
advance, exhibiting more real worth of heart and human 
sympathy than these affluent Christians possessed in 0011^ 
hination. The words went straight to a generous aad grat€^ 
* 1 * 


246 


WAnmcK, 


fUl heart. He struggled a moment, and, conquering tht 
emotion which threatened to unnerve him, replied : — 

“I never would have expected anything but assistance 
from your noble heart, Harry Codman. God bless you for 
the kindness of the thought I But I am doing quite well 
now. I am independent of any man. I am going to devote 
myself to literature ; and this is my manuscript book.” 

“ You might as well undertake to earn your living break- 
ing stones,” was the amused response. “Who lives by 
writing books? But you are just the same hard, unflinch- 
ing mass of pride as ever. You won’t let me help you. I 
have come forward and done my duty. You can have my 
check for twenty thousand dollars any day when your folly 
lands you in the poor-house. It is an open offer ; and when 
you will accept it I will take your note for the amount 
payable in twenty years from date.” 

“ Debt would be a heavy agony to me, Harry ; I cannot 
assume such an obligation, or any obligation, while I am a 
man with health and strength. God knows how I appreciate 
your kindness I The very offer itself places me under obli- 
gation to you forever.” 

“ It does, — does it? Then grant me one slight favor in 
return. I will not force money upon you. Yknow what a 
devilish will you possess. But promise me to send me a 
copy of your book, — will you ? Send it to the club. I want 
it as a present. I won’t pay 5^ou for it ; I have pride as 
well as you. I won’t pay the only man I ever really es- 
teemed for sending me his own book.” 

“ You shall have the first copy, Harry. I will send it to 
the club.” 

“ Don’t you forget it. Constant Earle, as you value your 
word. I would stand and talk with you by the hour, but 
my horses are waiting, and some gentlemen are looking out 
for me yonder. I promised to drive them to the Park. 
€Ux)d-by, old fellow. Don’t forget your promise about the 
book!’' 

With a parting grasp of the hand he was off. 

“ What can he want with the book ? ” was the mental 
Inquiry, as Constant Earle walked on. “ He must intend 
to make Chalmers notice it in his paper ; they are yfstv in- 
ornate.” 

His reverie was intemqpted by the sound of <Arria^ 


WA&mci. 


wheels dashing up against the curb-stone, and a voice call 
Ing to him again. It was Harry Codman. 

“ Constant Earle, what is to be the name of your book? * 

“ Polymnia.” 

“ The devil I what a name, — Polymnia ! Good-by ; 1 am 
in a hurry.” 

The carriage was hurried off again by the spirited thor- 
ough-breds. His eyes followed the stylish equipage flash- 
ing in the sunlight. How he loved beautiful horses I His 
own had been sold long, long ago. A magnificent turn-out 
swept by. A gentleman was driving four-in-hand. The 
vehicle was full of ladies, beautiful, joyous. One of them 
paused at that instant, in her merriment, and looked after 
the pedestrian. He did not know her. It was May Delano. 

What can he be carrying under his arm?” washer re- 
flection. “ Perhaps it is a new book. He will have clear 
sailing now since his brother gave him the check for ten 
thousand dollars. That was generous certainly. It relieved 
me from the duty of helping him, but I must say I would 
have enjoyed the pleasure of putting that new book before 
the world. What a grand walk he has I ” 

On and still on he hastened, turning as quickly as possible 
out of the fashionable thoroughfare where he was so likely to 
encounter the rich and beautiful who knew him. Another 
four-in-hand swept by as he left the avenue. He knew the 
occupants of that vehicle well and avoided them. They had 
dined at his father’s mansion familiarly. One fair girl sat 
with the driver. Rumor had it that she loved Constant 
Earle well, whereas he had only shown her the ordinary 
kindness and courtesy of social life. She did not see him as 
he turned down the^uiet side street. The instinct of some 
women is perhaps weaker than that of others. He looked 
back nevertheless at the stylish “ turn-out,” and recalled the 
luxury that in all ages follows upon the prosperity of a 
nation. He remembered the first four-in-hand driven in the 
barren land of Attica. Ericthonius was the Jerome of 
Greece. He hushed regrets at his fallen state and nerved 
himself for future struggle and ultimate triumph. Aspira- 
tion is a necesity to some natures. Constant Earle craved 
both an earthly and celestial crown. Are these aspirations 
compatible ? Is the declaration, My kingdom is not of 
this world,” a prohibition to eflbrt, a bar to struggle after 
/ nporalities? There have been kings who served God 


HM 




tt must be pleasant to be one of these. He was a man wltk 
the weaknesses and ambitions of other men. Hence ihesa 
meditations, these aspirations, as he paced along. 

When he reached the gi*eat publishing-house where he had 
resolved to make his first venture, he found a crowd gathered 
before the door and windows. Some fine photographs of 
public men, lions of the hour, had been placed in the windows 
I’edestrians had crowded up to study them. It was difficult to 
gain access to the building for a moment. Some one in the 
crowd improved that moment to snatch from under the arm of 
Constant Earle his compact bundle from behind. He turned 
with difficulty and confronted an old acquaintance, — the 
Jew who had purchased his wardrobe, when he lived in the 
garret. The Hebrew ejaculated at once, “ Dis way, quick I — 
you ketch him, I see him ; ” and immediately pushed 
backward with all his strength, clearing a path for the 
author, who forced his way outward and reached the outside 
of the crowd. But the thief had been too adroit for him. He 
©ould discover no one with a bundle. It had been concealed in* 
stantly and the man was still hidden in the crowd, or had made 
Ms way off with the thronging pedestrians who filled Broad- 
way. The author in distress scanned the bosom of every 
one in the vicinity. It was hopeless. The thunderbolt 
falls without warning. 

Could you recognize the face again ? Are you sure ? ” 

Oh, I see him, Mr. Earle. I can tell him. Wait for 
me one minute. He was pale and tin. I look for him dis 
way.” He wandered about the outskirts of the crowd, peer- 
ing into every cadaverous face. He was a zealous but so 
far useless coadjutor. He soon reappeared and acknowl- 
edged himself a baffled Hebrew. The peculiar face wag 
missing. Constant Earle ran across to a policeman and in- 
formed him of his loss. Th6 officer hurried across to tha 
crowd, and made his way in and out through the throng, 
having first sent the author on a rapid tramp up Broadway. 
The scrutiny of the officer, the author, and the Jew availed 
nothing. The manuscript was lost. The policeman listened 
to the Hebrew’s description of the thief for a moment, and 
then motioning to a person in the crowd sent him up the 
street in pursuit. The officer remained to study the appear- 
ance of every one who left the crowd. All was vain. The 
last hope vanished. The labor and care of months had di» 
solved into thin air. Polynmia wag a buried hope, 


VTAJifncS, 


1^0 you live in the same place? ” he inquired of the Ho 
brew. The question was answered in the affirmative. Th« 
Jew’s testimony might be important in the future. Tha 
speculator in old clothes looked kindly upon the distressed 
face of the author. “ I feel sorry, Mr. Earle ; I see your 
name on de bundle, under your arm. I see ‘ Polymnia ’ on 
him too. Was it goods? ” 

“ No 1 no I my book. I was just going in there to have it 
published.” 

“ I very sorry, Mr. Earle. You never come to me as 
I told you.” 

“ No I You were very kind, Rupener. I got along very 
well after a while. I remembered what you told me. But 
it was not necessary. I thank you just the same. I have 
a school now which gives me a living. Good-by, now. I 
am too unhappy to talk here. Good-by.” 

He extended his hand to the Hebrew, who shook it and 
tamed away muttering, “ Him ver}^ good gentleman, very 
good.” 

The Jew had his good points too. He had done what few 
Christians can secretly flatter themselves with. He was 
familiar with the kindness and charity of Madame Benon’a 
heart. He found the author prostrate, and, unwilling or un- 
able to spare the means to restore him to health himself, 
had notified that charitable lady of his condition. He had 
done a kind act and concealed the fact. 


ttfjapter XIFEI. 

Marrel not 

That Lore leans sadly on his bended bow; 

He hath found out the loveliness of mind, 

And he is spoilt for beauty. 

Wiuua. 

It was night, — gloomy, cheerless, starless night. There ia 
a physical night when the sun is lost, when dense, dismal 
clouds obscure the stars, when the cold wind howls in dark- 
ness, and there come strange voices out of the shrouded tu- 
mult, — voices as of lost spirits wailing. The eye dilates but 
finds no resting-place. No friendly sound tells of familijtf 


m 


w:AMmcx, 


objects. One raylcss, horrid pall envelops all things, and 
the human foot feels cautiously its wa,y where death may 
lurk in sudden pitfalls. Every sense is alert and useful, or 
strained for use. Every sense rcay be the means of saving 
life, 'fhe human being moves as if the moment may be his 
last. How ardently he yearns for a star to glimmer outl 
There is a mental night when the soul is alone and dark J 
when God the great central light is hidden ; when moans 
come up from the valley of death ; when the unanchored 
heart drifts silently upon the black sea, aimless, fearful, 
encompassed by despair. The angels of life stand apart 
with averted faces and shrouded forms, the demons of the 
hereafter move sullenly nearer, with stony eyes and shad- 
owy threatenings. With a shriek of mortal agony the soul 
falls prostrate, and only waits for death. 

A man, shrouded in the darkness of both nights, waa 
alone. His faculties were benumbed ; his eyes closed. 
Hope had fled, and he muttered incoherently of death. He 
was not prepared to die. A moment before he had uttered 
his disbelief in the goodness of God, and then shrouded his 
face with his arms to see if in the inner blackness he could 
find the nonentity of God. He was bowed down in dark- 
ness, and he wished to die. 

There is an Indian legend, associated with the waters of 
the Chattahoochee River, of an exquisitely beautiful maiden 
who loved a stranger' secretly and unknown to her father 
«nd tribe. She managed secret interviews with him beside 
the flower-bordered river, and beneath the holy stars, vowing 
to love him eternally and alone. When suspicion of their 
secret meetings was reported to her father, he aroused his 
warriors, and, tracking the lovers, ordered the stranger to be 
slain. The maiden sprang forward and received in her 
breast the arrow intended for her lover’s heart. Both were 
buried in the same grave. For her wonderful beauty, the 
Indians named her Nacoochee, The Evening Star. 

Constant Earle related the legend once to his favorite 
night-scholar, and expressed his resolution ever afterwards 
to apply the name to her ; for she always came to him in 
the evening, when he was lonely and desolate. 

The solitary man, with the garland of hope crushed be- 
neath his feet, with every aspiration blunted, with gloom and 
bitterness in his soul, saw, in the darkness, by the aid of his 
wasting fire, the door open, and Nacoochee, The Evening 


WAJtmcr, 251 

StAt) appear. She started in amazement at the silence and 
the gloom. 

“Are you ill, that you shroud yourself in darkness and 
sit alone?” 

She stood like a sister of mercy, in the red light of tht 
dying embers. He arose by the mechanical instincts of a 
gentleman and lighted his lamp. 

She flung back her hood, and looked earnestly at him. 
Her eyes were radiant in the lamp light. 

“ I was too desolate to sit in the light. And you were so 
late I thought you would not come to-night.” 

The voice was cold and husky. He was unnatural. 

She extended a paper to him. “ I bring you joy ; read that.” 

He took it as if it were his death-warrant, and, walking 
slowly to the lamp on the mantel, read the column to which 
she pointed him. It was the leading literary organ of intel- 
lectual men in the great city, — the same paper that had con 
demned “ Murmurs from the Deep Sea.” 

“ POLTMNIA, THE SENSATION OT THE DaT. — We have UOt 
time or space to do full justice to this remarkable book. So 
great is the avidity to read it, that we understand the pub* 
Ushers have announced a new edition of ten thousand copies. 
This is unprecedented in the history of American light 
literature. But there is no occasion for wonder, when we 
recall the fact that the market is gorged with sensational 
productions, which are ephemeral and silly, and that the 
number of cultivated people who can recognize real talent 
is increased yearly by tens of thousands. This book de- 
serves more than passing mention. It is the harbinger of 
a new literary millennium. Assuming that a large class of 
readers will never undertake the perusal of solid and sub- 
stantial literature, the author proposed to himself a blending 
of fiction and fact, whereby information might be diffused, 
and readers stimulated to make themselves more familiar 
with the interesting subjects thus slightly skimmed over. 
Wexiommend the purpose, and must confess our admiration 
at the successful manner in which subjects of real interest 
have been treated. Polymnia is a sugar-coating of history 
and science for minds not independent enough to grapple 
with solid text-books. It is more. It carries readers of 
every mental calibre through fascinating scenes, which they 
oaimot leave without regret, and the dramatie persons of 


252 


w A ft mat. 


which are true characters of daily life. The moral Influenci 
of fiction is questionable, but, if we must read it, it is grati- 
fying to know that one author has moral courage sufficient 
to withstand the corrupt issues of the English and American 
press, and ability to render purity and truth palatable. 
W© commend this work cordially to the attention of our best 
class of readers, and sincerely wish it God-speed.” 

The paper fell from his hands. He was ghastly pale. 
For a moment a bright flush had overspread his features. 
He knew that Polymnia had marvellously triumphed. The 
laurel crown had been woven and fixed. Henceforward, 
fame and money were of easy attainment. The man who 
would be pointed out as its author was a power. Alas I 
alas 1 he bowled his head upon the mantel, in darkness and 
agony of soul. He spoke not, moved not, and Nacoochee 
wondered. No doubt the suddenness and thrill of triumph 
overpowered him. She stepped forward and extended to 
him another paper, saying : — 

“ Read that. The success of this book is marvellous in- 
deed. It circulates like wildfire. You are pale as death. 
Read it, read it. It surpasses 3’our most sanguine hopes.” 

He mechanically took the paper and read where she 
pointed. 

“Another Sensation about Polymnia. — A gentleman 
who is well known in our upper circles for his wealth and dis- 
cernment was so charmed by the superiority of this strange 
book that he declared it merited universal dissemination ; its 
author was deserving the encouragement of every enlightened 
American. Hence he visited the publisher at once, and left 
an order for five thousand copies for himself, which he di- 
reeled to be presented to the principal editors and literary 
men throughout the country. This was truly characteristic 
of a son of one of our late merchant princes.” 

“ O my God I this is too much, Harry Codman, Harry 
Codman ! ” and the unfortunate Earle covered his face with 
his hands in utter abandonment and despair. 

“ What can you mean ? ” exclaimed the now excited girl, 
coming to him and laying her white, delicate hand upon his 
arm. He was silent. “ Tell me, tell me, are you unhappy? ” 

“ Tes ; ruined, lost. I have no hope ; and the world reelf 


before me like the dream of a maniac. Ail is lost, and my 
only friend swindled ; so generous, so noble ! Welcome, 
death I I yearn to die.” 

“Oh, speak to me, Mr. Earle ! ” pleaded the scholar. 
“ What do you mean? You rave indeed like a madman. 
Are you sane ? ” 

“ Ay, sane as the great crowd who have been created to 
be trampled, tortured, brutalized, and lost. Do you not 
knOT\ it?” he said, glaring fiercely upon her. “ They have 
stolen my book, my record of toil and anguish ; and, damn 
them, there is no redress. Forgive me for swearing. It is 
my first offence in the presence of a lady. But, oh, it is too 
much I I could rend that man limb from limb. I never 
hated before. I hate intensely, bitterly, madly ; and my 
ambition now is to meet him. My muscles creep to clutch 
him once and then die. You do not know what it is to fall 
from a high estate. To be loved, caressed, fiattered, satiated 
with every comfort, every luxury, and then cast a beggar 
upon the world, unfitted for business, and condemned to 
fight for daily bread. The bom beggars know nothing of a 
gentleman's agony outcast and alone. And I have strug- 
gled so hard, strangled my pride, trampled upon ray in- 
stincts ; and, after all ray toil, I am robbed. God has de- 
serted me. I am truly alone now, for hope has fled. That 
stood by me till the last. Now all is gone. Another wears 
my laurels. Don't listen to me. I am going stark mad.” 

“ You are not utterly alone,” whispered a voice low and 
gentle as a cradle hymn. “ That God whom you have for- 
gotten for a moment has decreed that one poor girl should 
whisper to you of comfort. She is disfigured in your eyes 
and friendless, and yet her regard and respect for you are so 
great that she yearns to whisper of comfort and peace again. 
There is no night so dark that the dajdight does not follow. 
Listen to me. Disappointments, obstacles, tortures, are the 
purifiers of God. They who have passed through them have 
glorified humanity; won crowns in every realm of science 
and art. This truth is a star. Look ip to it. You have 
won half the battle. Your thoughts are traversing the land 
like wildfire. The beautiful conceptions of that book are in 
thousands of hearts. You may lose the honor of this single 
book. It is all you can lose. No one can imitate your 
style. Any subsequent attempt of this thief will demon- 
strate that he did not write Polymnia. Ton have won, be* 
a? 


n.ih 


251 

Ing for her nation. He was deeply moved. He fbrgot hef 
disfiguration. He saw only the true religious ardor of the 
woman, and her unbounded faith in him and his powers. 
His distress was temporarily forgotten. He caught her 
spirit, vowed to arise and shake off despondency, reasserl 
manhood and re-erect the standard of God. The delayed 
Spanish lesson was forgotten. The present was too earnest 
They communed long before the dying embers, and when at 
last she arose suddenly and in regret at the lateness of the 
hour, he experienced a fascination regarding her, an interest 
in her warm and novel, which filled him with pain to lose 
her society. But she was an earnest, prompt character, and 
wasted no time in parley after she had discovered that duty 
called her away. She declined as usual his escort, and 
walked down and out to the street-car alone. 

He sat then alone studying his future. She was right. 
All was not dark. God would forgive him for his despair, 
would pardon that momentary rejection of the friendship of 
Heaven. He could return in sorrow and repentance to the 
favor of Christ ; could take up his cross again ; could purify 
his ambition, his pursuits, by a more perfect dedication of 
them to the glory and will of God. After all, life was short, 
and tha wise man lives patiently, purely, meekly, for an 
eternity of happiness. The divine injunction to forgive his 
enemies was a present necessity. The opportunity for a 
great act of self-renunciation was before him. W as he equal 
to it? Was any of the heroism of Christ grafted into him? 
Could he forgive this man who had robbed him, snatched 
from him the cup of honor as he was raising its soothing 
draught to his lips ? If he was equal to this great act, God 
would smile upon him, would be his friend. “Give me 
strength, O God ! ” he murmured, “ and then try me.** Sim- 
ultaneously with the prayer came the answer. A knock 
sounded upon his door. “ Come in.** The door opened and 
the Hebrew stood before him. The eyes of the visitor fairly 
twinkled. He sat down at the invitation and looked about 
him. There was a hilarious look in the maii*s face, and the 
teacher noted it. 

“Well, Rupener, I am glad to see you. You look 
pleased to-night.** 

“ I got him. Mister Earle,** was the response. 

“Ah I what is that?** 

I found de man who stole de book*** 


ffAMWWK. 




‘^Polymnia?” ejaculated the author. 

“ Yes, sir. I know de man. He sell me his coat. In de 
pocket I find two papers. He fcrgot dem. You know your 
handwriting, sir?” 

“ Of course I do.” 

“ Den look at him.” 

^ The Hebrew drew from his pocket two sheets of foolscap, 
tightly folded as if they had been ci’ammed into a narrovj 
place, perhaps pressed down under a weight. The author 
took them, glanced at them, and recognized two manuscript 
leaves of Polymnia, a part of the literary bundle of which he 
had been robbed. 

“ This is glorious news, Rupener ; and did you recognize 
his face? Was the man who sold you his coat the same man 
that robbed me ? ” 

Yes, sir ; same man. I know him.” 

“ Will you swear to it? ” 

“ I swear. Mister Earle. I know him.” 

“ Then am I redeemed, saved. But wait a minute. Did 
you ever see this man^s handwriting ? ” 

“ I got him here, Mister Earle.” 

The Hebrew fumbled in his pockets for a minute, and then 
from a handful of notes produced one and gave it to the 
author. He hastily read it and exclaimed : — 

“ It is the same handwriting as the one exhibited to me 
by the publisher. He copied my manuscripts, and then sold 
them. This and the two sheets in my handwriting, and your 
identification of the thief, will cause his arrest. Why, his 
name is Goodwin, — Henry Goodwin I Where does he live?” 

“IndeBower3^ He prints sometime, — he is a printer. 
He is very poor, and he drinks good deal.” 

“ This is splendid, Rupener. I shall have my own again. 
Will you be ready to-morrow by eleven o’clock to go with 
me before a magistrate ? ” 

“ Yes, sir. I go if you call prompt ; my business mast be 
'tended to. But I go with you one hour.” 

“ Very well ; that is kind of you. I will call at eleven, 
and will keep 3^011 away from y^our shop only an hour. Are 
you going so soon ? ” 

“ I must call on a customer to-night, Mister Earle, fca 
lome clothes.” 

“ Very well. Good-night, Rupener.” 
llie Hebrew vanished. The author sat Usteuing tc Mi 


25S 


WARWICK ^ 


footsteps, moving clowrward to the street. A follow 
He wanted to do me a service, and he has given me a small 
fortune. Polymnia ! Polymnia I It is my triumph. The 
very announcement that I have been robbed will _add to the 
sale of the book. Now shall I triumph fourfold.^* 

How gloriously waved the banners of victory above him 1 
He could return again to the society in which he had been 
reared ; the companionship with elegance and refinement had 
come to him once more. That society in which he had 
moved so royally, which had caressed and honored him, 
would receive him with eclat now that he had won a name, 
and means to dress and live like a gentleman. He had 
always been a favorite ; now he would be a lion ; and his 
sister, his sweet, beautlfol sister, could again move in her 
native circle. How her sad, weary eyes would sparkle 
again ! How thrilling the joy to be imparted at their next 
interview I Redeemed, honored, rescued from poverty and 
oblivion, the faces of the two Earles would again gleam upon 
society and in a new halo. Aristocrats by birth, they would 
walk in the glory of self-made people. If there is one joy 
wilder, more glorious than that of personal triumph in a 
generous heart, it is the consciousness that a sister is made 
happy, elevated to her proper sphere. Louisa Earle had 
made no enemies in society. Her return would be welcomed 
everywhere. 

In the midst of these bright dreams which another day 
would make realities, the supernatural invaded the school- 
room. The mysterious movements of the Spirit of God 
were already combining events into such a dilemma that the 
soul of the author, alternately depressed and exalted, was 
to enter the arena of a great struggle. Over that contest 
would angels hover. Around it would trample the crowding 
forms of fiends robed in alluring garb and whispering pro- 
foundest sophistries. The battle of life and the supernatural 
contest are divergent struggles. One typifies self-aggran- 
dizement; the other symbolizes the claims of God. One 
renders the victor a model citizen ; the other stamps on his 
forehead the citizenship of heaven. The champion in one 
contest claims the broadest privileges secured by human 
law. The soldier of the cross is bufi'eted, spit upon, scoffed 
at, and returns no answer. He is no coward. But the 
world sneers at him. The sublimity of Ills self-sacrifice has 
moved the pagan philosopher, and even the ignorant wh9 


wdMwm. 


m 


ftiti to comprehend can wonder. They admit the beauty of 
the star who fail to discover its utilitarian purpose. Th« 
ohosan few exult in its splendor. 

In that silent hour of exultation and triumph the door of 
the school-room was flung open, and a woman pale, bul 
beautiful) flung herself at the teacher^s feet, moaning. 


Cijaptft XXFIH. 

H* WM ft gentlenum without fortune, but of ao high ft nobilitj that the m 
oould not riyal him In puritj and splendor. 

DojnrA Bia.noiu 

“ SputE him, spare him I For the sake of Him who died 
on the cross, spare him I ” 

He raised her to her feet. She was haggard and wild 
with anguish. She immediately fell down again. She 
kneeled to him pleading. 

“ What do you mean? Whom shall I spare?” 

“ My husband, my poor, lost husband. He robbed you. 
I am sure of it. I followed that Jew when my husband 
told me his safety was hidden in the pocket of the coat. I 
knew then that the proof of his crime was concealed there. 
I followed the Jew, and begged him to return me my hus- 
band’s papers. He laughed at me. I have dogged his foot- 
steps. I have followed him to your door, for ho told me my 
husband had robbed a poor young man of his book. Oh, it 
Is you I I am sure of it. My poor husband has been almost 
crazy with poverty and misfortune. He took to drink when 
he saw me and my child suffering for bread and fire. He 
was not always so ; but poverty has maddened him. He 
gays now that he will admit nothing ; that he has written a 
great book and will have money enough to hire the best law- 
yers to defend him, and can buy up the judge too.” 

“ That he never can,” was the firm response. “ The proof 
is so clear, so overpowering, that no judge dare decide 
against my claim.” 

“ Yes, yes, sir, — so I told him. I was su' fe of it. But 
you do not know him. He has grown so desperate. Hi 


258 


wARmm. 


footsteps, moving dowxward to the street. A khA follow 
He wanted to do me a service, and he has given me a small 
fortune. Polymnial Polymnia! It is my triumph. The 
very announcement that I have been robbed will ^add to the 
sale of the book. Now shall I triumph fourfold.’* 

How gloriously waved the banners of victory above him 1 
He could return again to the society in which he had been 
reared ; the companionship with elegance and refinement had 
come to him once more. That society in which he had 
moved so royally, which had caressed and honored him, 
would receive him with eclat now that he had won a name, 
and means to dress and live like a gentleman. He had 
always been a favorite ; now he would be a lion ; and his 
sister, his sweet, beautiM sister, could again move in her 
native circle. How her sad, weary eyes would sparkle 
again ! How thrilling the joy to be imparted at their next 
interview ! Redeemed, honored, rescued from poverty and 
oblivion, the faces of the two Earles would again gleam upon 
society and in a new halo. Aristocrats by birth, they would 
walk in the glory of self-made people. If there is one joy 
wilder, more glorious than that of personal triumph in a 
generous heart, it is the consciousness that a sister is made 
happy, elevated to her proper sphere. Louisa Earle had 
made no enemies in society. Her return would be welcomed 
everywhere. 

In the midst of these bright dreams which another day 
would make realities, the supernatural invaded the school- 
room. The mysterious movements of the Spirit of God 
were already combining events into such a dilemma that the 
soul of the author, alternately depressed and exalted, was 
to enter the arena of a great struggle. Over that 'Contest 
would angels hover. Around it would trample the crowding 
forms of fiends robed in alluring garb and whispering pro- 
foundest sophistries. The battle of life and the supernatural 
contest are divergent struggles. One typifies self-aggran- 
dizement; the other symbolizes the claims of God. One 
renders the victor a model citizen ; the other stamps on his 
forehead the citizenship of heaven. The champion in one 
contest claims the broadest privileges secured by human 
law. The soldier of the cross is buffeted, spit upon, scoffed 
at, and returns no answer. He is no coward. But the 
world sneers at him. The sublimity of his self-sacrifice has 
oaovftd the pagan philost^her, and even the ignorant wh# 


WAMWtCat, 


m 


(kii to comprehend can wonder. They admit the beauty of 
the star who fail to discover its utilitarian purpose. The 
chosen few exult in its splendor. 

In that silent hour of exultation and triumph the door of 
the school-room was flung open, and a woman pale, but 
beautfflil, flung herself at the teacher’s feet, moaning. 


Cfjapter XliriO. 

He WM ft gentlemftn without fortune, but of mo high ft nobility that the na 
oould not riTftl him in purity ftud splendor. 

DoSKA BULMCft. 

“ Spake him, spare him I For the sake of Him who died 
on the cross, spare him 1 ” 

He raised her to her feet. She was haggard and wild 
with anguish. She immediately fell down again. She 
kneeled to him pleading. 

“ What do you mean? Whom shall I spare?” 

“ My husband, my poor, lost husband. He robbed you. 
I am sure of it. I followed that Jew when my husband 
told me his safety was hidden in the pocket of the coat. I 
knew then that the proof of his crime was concealed there. 
I followed the Jew, and begged him to return me my hus- 
band’s papers. He laughed at me. I have dogged his foot- 
steps. I have followed him to your door, for ho told me my 
husband had robbed a poor young man of his book. Oh, it 
Is you I I am sure of it. My poor husband has been almost 
crazy with poverty and misfortune. He took to drink when 
he saw me and my child suffering for bread and fire. He 
was not always so ; but poverty has maddened him. He 
gays now that he will admit nothing ; that he has written a 
great book and will have money enough to hire the best law- 
yers to defend him, and can buy up the judge too.” 

“ That he never can,” was the firm response. “ The proof 
is so clear, so overpowering, that no judge dare decide 
against my claim.” 

“ Yes, yes, sir, — so I told him. I was su' e of it. But 
you do not know him. He has grown so desperate. Hf 


WAMWtOS:, 


m 

will be guilty through his obstinacy. And then 

prison. O isiy God ! that will finish him. He will come 
out a hardened felon, and my child 1 O sir, spare my 
child I Do not make my innocent child a convict’s son. 
Oh, do you remember your mother? Was she gentle, lovely, 
devoted to you? Did you love her, — do you love her now? 
Then listen to me. Spare ray husband. He will not rolent. 
He will not give you your rights, unless you force him 
That will convict him of robbery. He will be lost. I know 
It, I know it. Oh, save him ! I have come to you because 
I 'hoped you might be a Christian. O sir, if you are, for the 
sake of Jesus who forgives us all our sins, forgive my hus» 
band, and save me and my child, my little baby boy I ” 

She fell down upon her face and sobbed aloud : “For the 
sake of Jesus forgive him I ” 

That sweet name again ! Why did it ever rise before him 
when a great hope was on him ; when a great earthly prize 
was within his reach ; when the powerful and wealthy of 
the earth were ready to do him reverence ? O name ever 
precious to him who has struggled, and suffered, and turned 
to it for comfort and peace ! That name was pleaded before 
him. At his feet was urged that holy name which thrills 
the hearts of the angels. For the sake of Jesus, who had 
sacrificed all for him, who had been his brother when his 
own brother failed him ; for the sake of Jesus upon whose 
breast the head of his angel-mother had rested, the woman 
begged for pardon. Had he not in the sincerity of his re- 
pentance a few moments before breathed the prayer, “ Give 
me strength, O God, and then try me”? The trial had 
come, indeed. He looked away towards the window. He 
walked towards it in the struggle. He looked upward to the 
heavens. The stars were coming out at last. Their purity 
and beauty suggested that realm where there shall be no 
night ; where every desire and aspiration of the soul shall be 
gratified ; where the poor and the struggling who love God 
and their neighbor as themselves shall have eternal rest. 
Perhaps that day was yet to come when he would writhe in 
worse mortal agony than he had yet known ; when not even the 
genial presence of “ The Evening Star ” would come to him. 
In that great trial hour perchance the memory of this night 
might come to him to strengthen him. Perhaps when, is 
his agony, he called upon the name of Jesus, then he would 
be heard himself. “ For I have given ycm an example, that 


WAMWiGK. 


261 


ye should do as I have done unto you. i’his is my command 
ment, that ye love one another as I have loved you. Ye art 
my friends if you do whatsoever I command you.” 

He returned to the poor creature, prostrate and sobbing 
In her agony. 

“ Eise up. I have forgiven him.” 

She stood upon her feet bewildered, caught his hand, 
pressed it to her lips, and bathed it with her tears. “ You 
have secured your place in heaven. O sir, God will be mer- 
ciful to you some day I ” 

“ Go to the Jew,” he said, calmly but superbly. “ It is the 
only request ! shall make of you, and tell him that I have for- 
given my enemy for the sake of Him who died on the cross.' 

One after another the stars shone out. The heavens were 
brightening in the glory of God. It was the brightest and 
clearest night of the year. The winds breathed low, and 
the watcher stopd exultantly by the window, studying the 
planets. He had relinquished all for God. For that mo- 
ment at least he experienced the peace which passeth all 
uUderstanding. Again had he taken his stand at the foot of 
the ladder of fame. He had resolved to start entirely 
anew. How should he frame the plot of his new book; 
how fashion the whole that it might meet the approbation 
of critics, and win the favor of the public? He was poor, 
and it was essential to him that his books should sell. 
In the contemplation of his plan he passed a solitary 
hour, looking out upon the stars. His imagination was 
fertile, and a new plot soon came to him. Images of 
beauty and power came trooping up before him and he men- 
tally selected from the crowd the dramatis personcs for his 
book. Weaxy at length he turned away to sleep. He 
dragged his bedding from the closet, spread it upon the 
school-room floor, and, committing himself to the guardian- 
ship of God, stretched himself out to sleep. He recalled 
the fact that the accustomed hour had not been devoted to 
the study ^of the hieroglyphics upon the brass weight. The 
lesson of Nacoochee had also been neglected in the excite- 
ments of the evening. How pure and lovely, and de- 
voted to his true interests had that Christian, high-toned, 
mutilated girl, proved herself I The prediction that the ab- 
sorption of a new undertaking would blunt the recollection 
of his loss was already being verifled. She was right. Tha 
weeks and months looked far away when he w «ald again 


m 


WAMWam, 


approach the com] ..^on of a book, but Le was oominced 
already that his now plot was far superior to that of Polym- 
nj i. He would eclipse everything this time, Deo volente 
Other thoughts occupied him then before he slept. His 
school-term was approaching completion. He had already 
despatched his bills to his patrons. He desired to settle bis 
accounts, pay up the rent of his school-room, and clear off 
his indebtedness for fuel, lights, and the provisions which he 
purchased and cooked for himself. Some of the patrons 
had responded promptly to his demands by sending in theii 
checks. Others were dilatory. This was' inexcusable, as 
they were wealthy and he was poor. He was already 
crowded for payment by his creditors. He hoped this em- 
barrassment would not continue. In the anxiety of it he 
fell asleep, with the stars shining down on him through the 
window. 

He awoke in the morning to another daj’’ of teaching, 
noise, and confusion. A dizzy pain possessed his head all 
day. He struggled against it, and was happy when the 
evening hour arrived and the boisterous boys cleared off for 
their homes. While he was eating his frugal meal the post- 
man brought him several letters. They were all from his 
patrons regarding school-bills. A few enclosed money. 
Several letters alarmed him. There was a financial panic per- 
vading the city. Some of his patrons assured him that they 
had suspended payment in consequence of the pressure upon 
them. He understood thoroughly the significance of that busi- 
ness phraseology. They had failed, and his pay for his services 
was gone — hopelessly gone. In alarm he seized a pen and 
paper, footing up his accounts, and omitting the sums due 
fi’om them. Terror mastered him. He was ruined. After 
paying out every available dollar he would be partly in debt 
for the rent of his school-room. The landlord was inexora- 
ble, and held a chattel mortgage upon his bedding, desks, 
seats, lamps, everything. He was utterly and hopelessly a 
beggar. There was no evading the blackness of his fate. 
The failure of a few patrons had shipwrecked him utterly. 
One of the sophistical fiends, who had whispered to him when 
the woman knelt before him for the pardon of her husband, 
drew near to him and hissed in his ear, “ I told you it would 
be madness to forgive that thief. Where are you now? 
How beautiful and glittering is that publisher's gold now I 
Hal Hal This comes of serving God. What a friend ! 


WAk^JICK. 


m 

Not a hand will he raise to help you. Don i loel: to him 
for assistance. Help yourself if you can. That is wisdom. 
It is all poetry, all romance, this Christianity. It never 
buys you one loaf of bread. True, genuine philosophy bids 
you avoid theories of the supernatural. Grasp the opportu- 
nities of making money as they pass you. Get money. 
Keep it ; spend it on j^ourself, on your pleasures, and let the 
supernatural take care of itself. Some people make a good 
thing of Christianity. They cant and draw large salaries. 
Use it in this way if you like. But never again do so fool- 
ish an act as to throw away your money, or forgive youi 
enemies when they walk away with your purse. It is noi 
practical life. It is romantic. It is silly. Always chase a 
thief ; lock him up in prison, and recover your money. Take 
just what the law of the land allows you. Steer clear of 
sentiments. They do you no earthly good. Human laws, 
as administered in America, are just about as sensible as 
they can be made. Attend to business, save 3-our money 
for yourself, have no soft places in your skull for beggars, 
put the police on the track of thieves, foreclose your mort- 
gages when you have the mortgagor in a tight place, and 
buy in the property. Keep just within the law and take all 
that it allows. You will then be an admirable citizen, be- 
come prosperous, forgive nobody when the act costs you 
anything, and never have such an ugly night before you as 
you are likely to have to-night, with a chattel mortgage over 
you and a sharp, practical, business landlord to put it 
through. You pardoned the man who stole your cash man- 
uscripts for the sake of Christ, — a pure sentiment. Now 
watch for your reward. You will have minutes of pure, ro- 
mantic exaltation, a fanatical dream, and then you will have 
hour& of regret, of poverty, of struggle. How you will 
yearn after the money that thief has plundered you of I Stop 
right here, Constant Earle, and start a practical, money- 
making, easy life from this moment. Do exactly as the 
saints ii your father’s church would do under similar circum- 
stances. Carry off the school-lamps and represent that they 
were all broken, when the landlord comes around to foreclose. 
Hide away a few chairs for future use. They will hardly be 
missed. Have one desk removed immediately. You know 
you will need something to write your future books upon, and 
it will be so convenient. Then the landlord will not miss 
HitBO few things, will consider you bankrupt entirely 




will make himself coiitentxjd with what he can lay his h&naa 
on« And since you have foileil^ in business parlance, make 
your failure complete. Never think of paying out the funds 
you have in hand. Save them for future use ; you will have 
trouble enough on your hands. Do not fear about that. 
There is only one contingency upon which you should 
pay your debts in part. If you anticipate in the hereafter 
making future purchases from any of these creditors, or rent- 
ing another room from this landlord, it may be necessary to 
establish your credit by paying all you can raise. But, if 
you intend to seek other creditors, never think of paying a 
cent. It is not practical, and what is not practical is simply 
foolish. Be careful not to do another silly act for Christ. 
Drop the supernatural and cease to be a poet or a Christian. 
Observe the conduct of your brother. He enjoys, lives 
comfortably, and has respect. He is a courteous gentleman 
and every one likes him. lie is guilty of no foolishness, 
has no sentiments that do not afford him pleasure and profit. 
Go to him ; relinquish that picture to him for a large sum. 
It is all pure sentiment you have about that picture. Your 
mother is dust. She will know nothing of the disposition 
you make of it. Be a practical man and quit studying the 
supernatural. You might as well be carried away by the 
table-tipping mania as to believe Christianity. It is high 
time you were looking at life practically.” 

To all this temptation. Constant Earle, the ruined teacher 
and author, listened unto the end. He was very sad and 
lonely and sick. He shqok his head at it all. He opened 
his desk, and, taking out his mothei-’s Bible, read, for the 
hundredth time, the lines written on the fl3Meaf : “ Con- 

dant EarlCy from his mother, ‘ Thou calledst in troubhy and 1 
delivered thee; I answered thee in the secret places of thunder; 
I proved thee at the waters of Merihah.* ” This man, upon 
whose personal beauty the wear of thirty-one years had pro- 
duced no damaging effect, possessed a natural heroism of 
character. When a school-boy, he had been the coryphaeus 
of his class. He risked his neck upon the wildest horses, 
climbed higher in the yellow pines, and stood for a beating 
by larger boys, than any scholar of his years. He was igno- 
rant of fear, apparently, and yet he was regarded eveiy where 
as of gentle nature and refined sensibilities. When a college 
student, he was an acknowledged leader in whatever spree 
-squired adroitness and courage. When be bad left the 


WAxmcx, 


m 


shades of his ‘‘ alma mater/" he entered the gymnasiums of 
his native city, and won high repute as an athlete. He was 
ever a leader when muscle and prowess were in demand. 
But a keen, native sense of sublimity and justice ever 
swayed his actions. He had the reputation of rashness, but 
never of meanness. A fine, poetical sense of justice and 
integrity ever accompanied him. He was a tx)et, and hence 
an idealist. No man was more likely to receive, in its in- 
tensity, the impression of Christian heroism. His Spartan 
nature and instincts qualified him for the appreciation of 
Christ. Then upon the friendly soil of his heart a Christian 
mother scattered the seeds of faith, and after-^mars witnessed 
how deep root they had taken. But natures like to his are 
susceptible to alternate exaltations and depressions. The 
foul fiend watches their development in fear and hope. Won 
to himself, they are mighty auxiliaries ; lost to him, they are 
giant enemies. They have a magnetism of character that 
draws powerftilly for good or evil. The personal beauty of 
Constant Earle, and his magnetic sympathy in the mental 
and physical order, gave him dangerous power in the society 
of women. He could fascinate female intellect witlwut 
effort, no matter how exalted the type. He impressed all 
women with his sincerity and gentleness. These traits, 
blended with a large intellectuality, rendered him compara- 
tively irresistible. It was apparent what God had made him. 
It was difficult to know what power Satan might have gained 
over him. Hence the pure instincts of women were ever 
attracted towards him. 

But the Christian faith had woven about his heart a 
charm difficult to be dissolved. It seemed to him as grand 
and glorious to sacrifice and fight for Christ, ay, grander 
than to die for country or for king. The poetic and the 
chivalric in him made him cling to that cause in which his 
sympathies and his sense of justice had once been enlisted. 
Christ is the ideal of true heroism, as of everything else 
noble and grand. On the battle plains of Palestine, Earle 
w'ould have been a Godfrey, “ true to the Red-Cross flag.** 
It would require an extraordinary array of temptations to 
induce him to abandon his faith now. But he was fearftilly 
hemmed in at this moment by misfortunes. In a moment of 
Christian enthusiasm he had forgiven a thief without pledge, 
and given him his manusenpts. The world denominates 
such self-renunciation madness. The man had not aolkited 

n 


WAMWTCK, 


Ml 

pardon. What ! forgive a thief who asked not for forgive 
ness, was not penitent, would not restore? Did Christ at* 
tach these conditions, when he exhorted men to the forgive- 
ness of those who had injured? “Pray for them who 
despitefolly use you and persecute you.” Before they re- 
pent? Ay, on the instant. “Forgive them, Father, fot 
th^ know not what they do.” 

How utterly abandoned and desolate he seemed, with hit 
poverty staring him in the face I Worse than all, the land- 
lord would deem himself swindled out of part of his rent 
He was conscious of his innocence. Could he persuade the 
landlord that he had not wilfully failed in his payment, that 
he had economized his means, and saved everything to meet 
his liabilities? It was doubtful. And then the future. 
Where should he turn for bread next? What should he 
undertake ? Where should he go ? He was deeply humili- 
ated and perplexed, sitting there alone with the solemn 
evening shadows creeping upon him. He must decide upon 
something immediately. The night-school was close at hand. 
If the landlord ejected him from the premises, he must notify 
his night-scholars at Qnce. There was no time for delay. 
He arose, took his hat and hurried away down the street. 
He walked rapidly, and reached the mansion of his landlord. 
It. was a sumptuous dwelling, the abode of wealth. How 
dizzy and humiliated he felt, standing before the entrance 
of affluence ! A servant responded to his summons. The 
master of the house was at home, and would see him. He 
passed into the drawing-room, and the servant lighted the 
chandeliers. Presently the landlord appeared, a thin, care- 
worn, but crafty man of business. He listened to the details 
of the failure, and examined the letters of the delinquent 
patrons. A scowl was upon his features. The financial 
panic was wide-spread, and he was himself a heavy loser by 
it. More valuable tenants than the school-teacher had failed 
Mm. He laid aside the letters, and looked long and steadily 
at his tenant. An eye bright and honest as the evening 
star returned his scrutiny. Finally, after mature reflection, 
he said, returning the letters, “ I am very much embarrassed 
by these failures myself, and I hoped to meet my payments 
by the combination of small rents like yours. You have 
been unfortunate ; but your promptitude in coming to me If 
-a guaranty of your integrity. Still, you are shipwrecked, 
I must m^e the best of it. I hare an application fef 


fTAnmcs. 


fotxt room, and shall put in another tenant right away. X 
shall have to foreclose my mortgage, and sell your furniture.” 

“ Very well, sir ; here is all the rent I could save for you. 
You will find every article of my effects as in your 'ist. If 
you cannot satisfy your debt out of my furniture, perhaps 
a lamp of some value, which was a gift, will aid towards 
that object. Good-evening, sir.” 


Chapter IXIX. 

Wild as the aatomnal gost the hand of time 
riles o’er his mystic lyre; in shadowy danoe 
The alternate groups of joy and grief advance, 

Responsive to his varying strains snblime. 

COLBRIOai. 

He sat alone. The night-school had been dismissed for 
the last time. In another hour the agent of the landlord 
would arrive to dispossess him, and take the key. Then he 
would walk forth, .^. '’^^ess, homeless, without a place to lay 
his head. He would wander up and down the streets of a 
great city with no physical burden but a Bible and a brass 
weight, — the antique from Salamis. Why did he linger 
then ? It was desirable that he should go early to the lodg- 
ing-place of his sister, to leave her the charge of his book 
and his brass weight, until he could find a home. Why 
this useless reverie then? The homeless have no time for 
reveries. But he lingered on, starting at every sound from 
the street, and then relapsing again into gloom. All was 
gloom, night, hopelessness. But the human heart is a won- 
derful mechanism. It puts forth tendrils, in its loneliness 
even about a tree or a stone. It is hard to have nothing to 
love, nothing to talk to, nothing to be interested in. There 
was one object of regard left to him yet. In the distress of 
his condition it assumed large proportions; it looked pre- 
cious, valuable, now, and more so that he was about to lose 
it. He had not been fully conscious how much inherent fas- 
cination it possessed for him. But now he longed to bid 
that object farewell. Something like bitter disappointment 
tagged **^“*^etring8, that he was delayed so long in 




m 

seeiug it. At last he grew restless indeed, and walked a 
the window peering out into the night. It was not there^ 
There was no sign of its coming. Something must havs 
happened. He knew that before. Then why should he re- 
peat that stale apprehension ? It was too late now to expect 
anything. There had been some natural detention. It had 
occurred before ; why not again ? And yet he could not re 
llnquish all to night and gloom. His impatience increased 
to distress. Must he go forth alone, uncheered and for- 
saken? Hark I some one was approaching. The street door 
opened, surely I Feet were ascending to the school-room. 
It was the agent of the landlord. He was no longer master 
of a school-room and a school. He was already dispos- 
sessed. He arose with his book and his antique, and passed 
the agent as he entered. The key was in the door ; he had 
nothing to do but to leave. He turned at the landing, and 
gazed back into the school-room with regret. It had been a 
species of home to him ; it had sheltered him from the cold 
of the street. He had grown familiar with every glass in 
its windows, every crack and stain upon its walls. He had 
studied and struggled mentally there ; he had prayed there 
and been comforted there. There was a memory upon him, 
at this moment, more vivid than all these. There had he 
met and known Nacoochee, The Evening Star. Would he 
never see that star arise again? For this he tarried, hoping 
against hope. She was generally the earliest to come and 
leave. Sometimes she had been detained away until all the 
female pupils had retired ; this was of rare occurrence. 
Sometimes she did not come at all. God grant that this 
might not happen to be one of those lonely times I It was 
his last night, and he longed to see his Spanish scholar 
once more. He might never meet her again. Who is sure 
of any meeting in the great metropolis? She was going 
forth as a governess. He prayed God that she might hap- 
pen to come. He slowly moved down the hall stairs, and 
stood in the street door waiting for her. It was quite dark ; 
tio stars were out. He looked away into the gloom and 
blackness of the night. He grew sick at heart and walked 
slowly up the street. All was gone for the poor outcast 
scholar. All was dark ; the Evening Star came not. Nacoo- 
',hee was obscured forever. 

He wandered slowly on in the gloom. There was no pro- 
pelling motive for haste. He wanus^*** wUok 


WAMWWr. 


demanded renewed exertion, no chapter which demanded 
attention. Ho liad not yet collected paper for a new book 
The plan of another book was inchoate. Woul,d he ever 
commence in earnest again ? W ould he ever have time again 
for literary labor ? It was manifest enough that a struggle 
was before him as painful as any he had experienced. Ha 
might starve this time. A pauper’s grave was a dismal 
prospect for a son of the great house of Earle. He must 
apply somewhere early for work. He must find some shelter 
for the night. That was an imperative preliminary. It 
would never do, whispered his noble heart, to inform his 
sister of his trouble. It would only aggravate her own dis- 
tress to know that he had fallen in the midst of his hopes ; 
that he was without a roof to cover him. It was better to 
find work first. Impressed with this thought, he tied his 
book and weight in his handkerchief, making a small bundle 
easily carried in his hand. There were small shops and 
markets still open on the narrow streets through which he 
w^as wandering. It would be well to attempt to find work in 
these, that he might at least gain a shelter for the night. 
He turned into the first shop he met, and requested work, 
that he might earn a lodging for the night. There were sev- 
eral customers hurrying up their purchases before the shop 
closed. The proprietor looked at the applicant in surprise. 
He had no occasion to employ more help in his business. It 
was too late at night, he suggested, to be hunting up a place. 
Then Earle went on to another shop. He received a similar 
response. He tried a third and a fourth with the" like suc- 
cess. The clerks and employes were already putting up the 
shutters for the night. His prospects were gloomy enough. 
His heart almost failed him. He recollected the lawyers 
who had paid him for copying legal papers. But they were 
far away at their homes, and their office was closed long 
ago. He resolved to seek them on the morrow. He recol- 
lected that his clear, manly handwriting had given them 
perfect satisfaction. It was hard, incessant toil to write for 
them, and the pecuniary compensation was a pittance, t^ill 
It was something that would give him shelter and coarse 
food. His instincts revolted at manual labor, for that would 
exhaust him, and give him no opportunity to write and 
asj)ire to someliiing in the future. The heavy clock near at 
hand tolled solemnly the hour, and his heart sank. 
should he deep f He wandered on and on, finding no kind 
SB* 


m 


WASWTCX, 


hand to grasp his own ; no one to give him a shelter npon 
his promise of work on the morrow. It was well. He had 
placed his whole trust in God. It would be strange indeed 
if succor should be long delayed. Weary at length, and 
alarmed by the lateness of the hour, he found himself again 
in the street where he had taught his schools. It could not 
have been many rods from his late school-room that he found 
at length a large coal-yard filled with buildings and sheds, 
and apparently deserted. The great gate was open, and no 
light gleamed from the window of the little office. Some 
negligence of the gate-closer had left the wanderer an oppor- 
tunity to sleep. He stole quietly under a deserted shed, hid 
himself behind a bank of coal, and laid down to sleep upon 
a pile of planks which had been carefully deposited there. 
He borrowed a lodging-place, intending to offer his labor for 
the night’s use of the premises. He was exhausted, and 
slept soundly as a king upon his hard bed. 

Scarcely had he abandoned his school-room forever, when 
a female appeared upon the scene. His footsteps had barely 
died away in the distance when she came rapidly down the 
street and turned into the hall leading to the school. She 
passed up the steps and entered the school-room unan- 
nounced. What was her amazement to discover a stranger 
In possession of the premises ! 

“ Where is Mr. Earle, the teacher? ” 

“ Gone up the spout,” was the laconic and figurative re- 
sponse. 

“ What do you mean? I must see him. I have busin^w^s 
with him.” 

“ You won’t find him here. He has cleared out for good.” 

“ Gone I ” she exclaimed. 

“ That’s the word ; gone for good. He’s never coming 
back. He’s busted up.” 

“Can’t you speak more plainly to me?” 

“ Why, certing. Mister Earle couldn’t or wouldn’t pay 
hi^rent for this ere place, and the landlord’s turned him out 
and seized his traps.” 

“ Was he so poor, then ? ” 

“ So it appears. He left to-night with nothin’, ’oepting 
what he’s got on his back, and a notion or two in hia bun- 
dle.” 

“ 1 am amazed, sir. I never suspected thia,” 


ffl 

‘•Nor nobody else. He was fair-spoken^ .hey say, and 
wag took to be honest.” 

“ So he was,” she said, firmly. “ He was honest if any 
man ever is. He must have been unfortunate.” 

“ I can’t dispute nothin’ you’re sayin’, mum, seein’ as how 
I don’t know all the perticklers. He left a mighty pooty 
lamp here to help pay up his debts. Jest look at that crita 
ter I I believe that’s an owl.” 

He was engaged in cleaning up the student’s lamp at that 
moment. 

“And he left that?” 

“He did, and he told the landlord to sell it, to help 
towards the amount due. Most men would have sneaked 
off with such a trifle. I ’spose he couldn’t carry it, or hadn’t 
no place to put it into.” 

“ Your conjecture is of a piece with your cramped nature,” 
she muttered, and then added, in a louder key, “ Is there 
no way to track Mr. Earle out ? Where has he gone ? ” 

“ Couldn’t say,” was the responsive brevity. 

“ Good-evening, sir.” 

“ Good-night, mum ; ” and thus this couple parted. 

She walked down to the street door, and stood in the 
darkness studying her next move. She was inexpressibly 
sad. She had counted firmly upon this interview. He had 
fled and left no sign. The evening star had arisen. Nacoo- 
chee had come. How little she knew of that weary waiting 
for her I She fancied he had gone off, unmindful of her. In 
his trouble he had forgotten her no doubt. Why should he 
think of her, a poor, mutilated girl ? The school was ended. 
She would not see him again. She was desolate in heart as 
she walked slowly around the next comer and disappeared. 

On the following day an elegant carriage stopped before 
the school-room. Its inmates were two ladies dressed in the 
height of the fashion. One was a widow of thirty-four, dark- 
eyed and pretty, not beautiful. Her companion was older, 
and was her familiar. The two were in the habit of ex- 
changing their facts and surmises. The mutual discussion of 
these materials constituted their friendship. The emotion 
was not profound or permanent, — only society friendship, 
that communion of souls which satisfies the masses. They 
moved in different circles ; hence their stock in trade was 
large. They dissected weekly two extensive city cliques 
They criticised their fellow-citizens, took out their acquaint 


WAMtnOS, 


in 

ances' false teeth at night, counted their braids of fals4 
hair, tapped upon their shoulders and bosoms for padding, 
knew to a nicety the quality of their rouge, how much they 
were worth, whom they flirted with, and the sum total of 
their piety and worth. They never rehearsed each other's 
failings or weaknesses, except to select circles. These cir- 
cles never having chanced to compare notes, the two Mends 
continued to kiss as usual, and “ my dear ” each other. 
Scratching was a future contingency. 

“ My dear Mrs. Gillmore,” suggested the familiar, as they 
waited before the school-room, while the fbotman ran up the 
stairs to summon the school-teacher, “ it appears to me that 
you are fond of visiting this school. The teacher is very 
handsome, — is he not? " 

“ I think so — very,” giggled the friend, in response. 
“ Do you think that brings me here sometimes?” 

“ I think it brings you here often** 

“Lai — do you, now? I never thought of such a thing- 
But ho is good-looking, — isn't he ? ” 

“ You never could think, in your position, of marrying a 
school-teacher, my dear.” 

“ Alas, dear ; I never can marry again. My loss was too 
great.” 

“ You dear, sweet soul 1 I don't think you ought, when 
you had such a charming man before, unless, indeed, you 
could marry something distingue** 

“ But it is very lonely sometimes. I am such a domestic 
woman, I have many solitary nights.” 

“ Exactly ; you were at five parties last week, and wore a 
different dress each time.” 

“ You know that is on account of my dear children. It is 
essential for them that their mother should retain her posi- 
tion in society. They will soon be on the stage, you know.” 

“ That will be seven or eight years yet, my dear. But 
here comes Thomas with some intelligence of your Adonis.” 

“ Hush I the servants will hear you.” 

The stately Thomas delivered his answer thus : — 

“ He's gone to smash, mum. They've sold out hif» fhmi 
ture and things, and he have gone away.” 

“ That is too bad,” exclaimed his mistress. “ I feared 
his note did not tell me all. What shall I do with my boy? 
Poor fellow 1 — is there no way to find him? ” 

“1^8 agent's up there, and he have charge of his fiinii' 


WAMWWK* 


%n 

^ne, mam, and he says the teacher have gone and ifon*l 
»me back ; and nobody knows where he^s gone to." 

** Dear me ! dear me I That will do, Thomas. Drive 
now to Stewart’s." 

The carriage whirled away, and one lady had lost he! 
rivacity. She answered abstractedly all her familiar’s 
efforts to arouse her. She was wondering if the teacher was 
treasuring up the owl-fashioned lamp in his misfortune. 
The memory of the wanderer’s face haunted her. Few 
women forgot it. Like the countenance of Crishna, “ that 
idol of women, it was heroic, beautiful, exciting the imaginar 
tion, and breathing music from the eyes.’’ Ahmed ben 
Aibdalaziz, in his “Treatise on Jewels,’’ affirms that the 
serpent which fixes his eyes on the lustre of the emerald 
instantly becomes blind. The woman who once had gazed 
into the lustrous eyes of Constant Earle was forever blinded 
bo all other male beauty. 

Whi^e Mrs. Gillmore was searching for the teacher, ha 
was employed in a new capacity. He had arisen at dawn 
from his hard bed, and, finding no person astir in the coal- 
yard, had walked out through the great gate. The sounds 
of the early risers, preparing for the business of the da^^ 
greeted his ear. With the dawn had come hope, — hope to 
be able to find work. He Wandered on, making inquiries of 
every one he met where he could find ernployraent. No one 
knew. Some were impatient of questions. Others were 
civil in their replies. He entered business places in his 
search, and met with no better success. Finally he paused, 
after a long and fruitless walk and search, to rest himself. 
He had walked on into the fashionable portion of the me- 
tropolis. The dwellings around him on every side were 
elegant. The sun was high, and the glory of the day seemed 
to mock him. The son of affluent parents stood silently in 
the midst of wealth, half famished aru;l footsore. He knew 
not where next to turn for a morning meal. His attention 
was soon attracted by the sight of a boy seated upon a stool 
in the entrance of a carriage-house, on the opposite side of 
the street. The little fellow was swaying back and forth on 
his seat and occasionally moaning. He appeared to be in 
distress, and the author approached him kindly. He saw 
that he was a cripple, and, placing his hand upon the boy’a 
shoulder, he said, gently : — 

“ Poor boy, you are in trouble. Can I help you?" 




WAMWICai* 


The little cripple looked up at those friendly worda. They 
came upon his ears like music. Bat he only shook his head 
and pointed inward to the stalls behind the carriage-house. 

“ Shall I go in and see what is the trouble ? 

“ Oh, yes, sir ; you may. But there aint no hope. He’s 
a-goin* fast.” 

The boy resumed his moaning, and the author passed on 
beyond the glittering vehicles, which indicated an affluent 
owner. There were a superb family carriage, a Clarence and 
a rockaway, each having upon the panel of the door a small, 
turreted castle of solid silver, holding three archers with 
bent bows. The harness, which was hung against the walls, 
was marked with a silver D. A closet door was partly open, 
where hung a coachman’s livery of light gray with silver 
buttons. The cripple appeared to be the only cuntodian of 
the place. There were two spacious stalls beyond, occupied 
by black carriage-horses with a white star in their foreheads. 
There was another stall beyond these unoccupied. Its for- 
mer tenant was lying upon a bed of straw on the floor of 
the open space, and was apparently slowly dying. One 
glance of that practised, searching eye of blue revealed the 
fruth ; it was an English hunter, a thorough-bred, magnifi- 
cently limbed, straggling with death. A back window 
poured a flood of light upon the open space. The strug- 
gling monarch of the turf displayed a glossy coat of the 
richest, darkest, chestnut-brown. It was a pitiful sight to 
witness the distress of so imperial a racer. Constant Earle 
was as devoted to beautiful horses as Caligula to the ivory- 
stabled Incitatus. He was a monarch in the saddle, and had 
been from his youth up. He knew the physiology and habits 
of a racer infallibly. He had ever been proud in his palmy 
days of his equine knowledge. His sympathy was at once 
enlisted for the abandoned beast. He laid aside his bundle 
and carefully scrutinized the struggling steed. It was evi- 
dent from the accumulation of bottles and veterinary articles 
l^ng around that the horse had received considerable atten- 
tion before he had been left to his fate. He had evidently 
been bled, and this appeared to gratify the heretofore silent 
spectator, for he muttered, “ That was all right if under- 
taken early in the disease ; but what have they been using 
this infernal hellebore for ? That produces increased deter« 
mination of blood to the brain. Poor beast I he has been 
bunglingfy doctored to his detriment, ^at is this 


WAMmcat, 


Ih ! farijia of the croton. That Is well enough. And here 
Is the probang ; and what is this mess ? I see, — grael. That 
will do sometimes when the horse is unconscious. And this 
stuff is digitalis. Very good ! and here is emetic tartar and 
nitre. They did the best they knew ; but they were bunglers 
after all. Hellebore — what nonsense that was ! 

He approached the horse and gave him a quick, hard slap 
with his hand. The poor beast appeared to shrink fix)m tb« 
blow. 

“ Exactly. I knew it was not apoplexy. How fearfully 
his eye brightens now I I don't like that. The membrane 
of the eye is too red, too red for that transparency of the 
cornea. How his nostril labors, expanding and quivering ! 
His respiration is short and quick. His ears are bent for- 
ward. He catches every sound. Poor brute I he is too beau- 
tiful to die.” He sprang back quickly. The horse dashed 
violently from side to side. He reared partially on his hind 
legs. He whirled round and round for a moment, and then 
feu back upon the straw and laid quietly for a time in ex- 
haustion. Again the teacher approached, him and examined 
his forehead. He had evidently been blistered there. “ Poor 
brute! they have done nearly everything for you. They 
have done too much at that. Now I am going to try my 
hand. You shan't die, old fellow, without one more trial.” 

He drew a knife from his pocket and instantly opened 
both jugulars. It required both courage and adroitness, for 
the paroxysm almost immediately returned again. He baro* 
ly escaped the violent effects of a renewal of the spasuL 
The horse whirled round and round again, bit and tore him- 
self, darted furiously at everything within reach, and then 
again feU back exhausted. Then Constant Earle shouted tc 
the cripple : “ Come here quick 1 Don't you dare to delay 
one second 1 ” 


WAMWnX. 


S7« 


€UVUX ttt. 

And ther« lay th» fte«d with his nostril all wide, 

Bat through it there rolled not the breath of his pride: 

And the foam of his gasping lay white on the tarf, 

And eold as the spray of the rook-beating surf. 

Btbok 

The boy ceased hie moaning immediately, startled by th« 
Imperious tones of a voice which before had been so kind and 
gentle. He started from his seat and hobbled away into the 
stable. The stranger was standing over the beloved object 
of his distress. The horse was so quiet that he feared he 
was dead. He had little time to indulge his feelings over 
the event. 

Whose horse is this? ” 

“ Miss Delano owns him, sir,” replied the boy, glancing 
curiously at the interrogator, whose tones were peremptory 
and admitted of no dubious replies. 

“ Why is he left here alone ? ” 

“ They guv him up, sir. The doctor said, 'twant no use ; 
he got ter die ; and so Mike he went and got drunk, he feel 
so bad.” 

“ Pretty business that. Was Mike the coachman?” 

“ Yes, sir. He be the man what stays here. Mike’s sound ; 
but ’twant no use, sir. The doctor he tell us so.” 

“ The doctor don’t know everything. I believe I can save 
that horse yet/’ 

“ Oh I yer don’t mean it, sir,” exclaimed the boy, a flash 
of joy lighting his face. “ Miss Delano she would die o’ joy, 
sir. Poor Miss Delano, she sot up here half the night. She 
did indeed, sir. She couldn’t gin him up, sir. And when 
the doctor told her this momin’ as how he couldn’t last two 
hoars, poor thing, she busted out cryin’, and she’s in the 
house there a-lookin’ so down it would make yer heart ache 
to see her. She jest loves that horse to death, but she said 
as how she couldn’t stay to see him die nohow. She said 
she b’lieved as how he knowd more than some men, and Mike 
he up and said so too.” 

“ Well, there’s a chance, boy, for you to lighten her heart 
The ordinary remedies have failed. It’s a slim chance ; but 
we’ll try it Is there any German apothecary about here?” 


mdsmcr. 


m 

** There’s Mister Brown, sir. He’s four blocks off." 

“ He’s not a German. That’s not a German name, — is it ? ’ 

The boy looked puzzled. Then a bright idea struck him. 

“ Is them the fellers as smokes the pipes this way? ” 

He crooked up his forefinger in perfect imitation of a Ger< 
man short pipe. The Teutonic symbol was so admirably 
counterfeited that the teacher smiled. 

“Yes, that’s it. Now is there an apothecary near here 
that smokes one of those pipes, bus a long light-colored 
beard and a blue eye ? ” 

“ Yes, sir. I know jest the man, — w^ay down here on that 
avenue. I seen Miss Delano goin’ there one time.” 

“ Well, then, take this paper to him, and tell him that it’s 
for Miss Delano’s horse. Tell him that I say American 
apothecaries can’t put up those things. He can understand 
it probably. It’s what they give horses in Arabia when 
the 3 r’re most gone. They gather it in the deserts out there. 
Now be off in a hurry. Away you go.” 

He had scribbled on a fragment of paper as he talked. 

The excited cripple needed no spur. He hobbled away 
Instantly ; thump, thump, thump, over the stable floor, and 
then out on to the pavement. No human being realized more 
than himself the distress of his kind mistress. The one 
sound limb accomplished wonders along the pavement. 
“ Oh, if the horse would only git well ! ” He whispered the 
eager words to himself as he hobbled along. 

The teacher turned his attention to the horse. The beast 
was remarkably quiet. A stupor seemed to possess him. He 
feared that all remedies were indeed too late. He noted 
every delicate outline of the superb courser. How glori- 
ously and powerfully knit were his limbs 1 How glossy his 
chestnut coat I How unmistakably an aristocrat was that 
graceful beast ! How strange that a young lady should 
choose that fleet and imperial hunter for her “ mount ” I Whe 
could she be ? Delano ? Delano ? That was not an unfa- 
miliar name. It recalled the exiles from France ; the edict 
of Nantes. There could be no mistaking the origin of that 
name. It had the true ring of that noble people, the perse- 
cution of whom, in France, enriched the blood of many lands. 

“ Whoever she is I’ll try to save her horse. I don’t won- 
der she feels for him, — the noble, beautiful beast I ” 

He drew a stool near to the horse and sat patiently wi 
inf ft)r ike mesaengcFs return. He watched every eympton. 


WAMmCK. 


srrB 

of the failing steed. He would not have tarried there M 
long unless a long experience in the treatment of horses had 
left him a faint ray of hope. It would be pleasant to make 
one girl’s heart glad. He had untied his bundle to tear out 
a blank leaf of his Bible to write the prescription upon. 
The handkerchief lay untied upon a box. The weight and 
book were lying upon it. He arose, took up the Bible, and 
read several verses in it. The horse was lying almost quiet. 
He became absorbed in some meditation upon a passage of 
Scripture and noted not the flight of time. He was interrupt- 
ed by the entrance of the boy. Thump, thump,-thump, he 
came over the floor-planks of the carriage-house. Constant 
Earle laid aside the book and advanced towards him. He 
feared that the unusual nature of the prescription would pre- 
vent the boy finding it. But no I The cripple was out of 
breath. He handed a vial to the teacher. He was too ex- 
hausted to speak for a moment. He had hurried as If the 
patient had been a human being. One glance at the marks 
upon the wrapper assured the teacher of his success. With 
an exclamation of joy he tore off the paper and held the fluid 
up to the light. The sunbeams revealed a dark, semi-trans- 
parent liquid. He removed the cork and tested the integ- 
rity of the contents by applying a drop to his lips. .AJl 
right. He had grown familiar with that taste upon the 
steppes of Arabia. He called the boy to his assistance. 

“ Kneel down there, if you can, with your crutch, and 
hold this pitchfork handle in his mouth, as long as you can.” 

The cripple managed to secure a place upon the floor, 
while Earle pried open the mouth of the horse with the han- 
dle. It was a difllcult feat to accomplish, for the strength of 
the beast was not entirely gone. He struggled and then 
quietly submitted. The two held his head down until the 
contents of the vial were poured into his throat. Then the} 
clung to the handle, holding him steady for a moment. The 
cripple then drew himself away and Earle withdrew the 
pitchfork. It looked hopeless enough. The poor brute 
panted as if he were dying. Long did the two keep watch, 
one in hope, the other in scientific study. Finally the 
teacher opened another window of the stable and admitted a 
flood of light upon the head of the horse. 

Ah I his eye responds to the action of light ; that is 
good.” 

He tat dewB then and watched patiently for an ho«f. 


WAMmcs[* Std 

Hie terrible laboring of the horse had ceased. It was due to 
exhaustion, or improvement, he knew not which. The 
cripple hobbled about the stable, and, unnoticed, took up the 
teacher’s book and looked into it. Then he came back tc 
the horse. 

“ He is better, aint he, sir ? ” 

“ Yes, I am sure of it. He is relieved ; look at his eyes. 
Now he may be saved by careful feeding. He must have 
that food which has been prepared yonder. They fixed 
that all right. When the inflammation abates, and appetite 
returns, everything depends upon the quantity and quality of 
his food. Can’t you get me something to eat ? I am very 
hungry. What is in that tin-pail yonder?” 

“ That’s my dinner, sir. But you kin have it ; I kin git 
plenty more. ” 

A second invitation was not needed. Earle devoured the 
contents of the pail eagerly. Then he pried into eveiy nook 
and comer of the stables to see what could be done for the 
horse. He indicated to the boy what treatment and food 
were necessary for complete restoration. For fear that any 
mistake might be made, upon the return of the coachman from 
his spree, he tore out another blank leaf from his Bible, and 
wrote out directions^minutely with his lead pencil. 

“ Give that to your mistress, and tell her to watch the 
men who nurse this horse. I think he may get well if there 
is no more bungling. Do you hear ? ” 

“ I’ll gin it to her right off.” 

“ That’s right. Tell her my medicine will save him, but 
it was a narrow escape. Nothing could have saved him but 
that vial. He is doing well now.” 

“By jingo! you’re a snorter, sir. Miss Delano will be 
most crazy when she hears it. I’ll run now and tell her,” 
and away he hobbled, his black eyes snapping with delight. 

Constant Earle tied up his bundle again and left the sta- 
ble much refreshed by Shorty’s dinner. He intended now to 
proceed directly to the office of the lawyers and solicit more 
papers to copy. But he was intercepted at the end of the 
second block. A^arriage paused suddenly at the curbstone. 
A voice called to him from the window, and a gentleman’s 
hand beckoned to him. He approached the vehicle in sur- 
prise. A lady was there also. He recognized her at once as 
the young lady who had come to the school-room with her 
&ther to thank him feu* saving her life. Montrose Eaila 


m 


WAumm. 


bad Informed Miss Deming and her fatbct of the whereabouts 
of the rescuer. The two had gone at once to the school and 
offered to forward the teacher’s interests by any means in 
their power. He had declined accepting any favor from 
them, as he was prosperous with his school, and they, know- 
ing of the promise of Montrose Earle to send him a large 
check, bad pressed him no further. With proftise expres- 
sions of their gratitude and sense of his heroism they had 
left him. But their hearts were too grateful to let the mat- 
ter rest there. They had diligently sought out preferment 
for the teacher, and, after many failures, had discovered a 
place suited, as they hoped and believed, for him. 

“We have a proposition to make you, sir,” was the salu- 
tation of Mr. Deming “ It may prove to be a valuable 
matter to you in time. Are you open to propositions to oc- 
cupy a position as teacher? ” 

“If I am qualified for it,” was the response of the bewil- 
dered outcast. 

“ There is a place just vacant by death, in the University. 
The Greek tutor has died, and I am one who has influence to 
exert in filling the place. The salary is one thousand dol- 
lars. But here is the inducement to you : if you give satis- 
faction as tutor the chances are that ypu will be promoted 
in time to the chair of the Greek Professor. He is an old 
man, an invalid^ and my opinion is that his chair will soon 
be vacant. Will you accept the tutorship? I would be 
happy indeed to promote the interests of one who has saved 
the life of my child.” 

He spoke with evident emotion. His daughter sat eagerly 
watching for the reply. The poor scholar had become so 
familiar with sudden blows of misfortune, that when a shaft 
of the wild lightning of joy reached him he was crushed. 
He struggled hard to be calm. He was overwhelmed with 
this good fortune, this favor of Heaven. He appeared to re- 
flect. He had not the remotest idea of declining. He had 
not even shelter for the night. He replied then as calmly as 
was possible under the thrill of joy. 

“I would like the place very much, sir. You are too 
kind.” 

“ Oh dear, no,” exclaimed the young lady. “ I would 
oflTer you the place^of President if it were in my gift, and so 
would papa. I am so glad yoil have accepted. Is your 
address still at the school-room? We must know to-nighi 


WAstmci^, 


fSrhere to send you notification if you are &c<‘t*pted, as yo^. 
certainly will be, for what papa say s is law with them. 
They know he would n^t recommend any one who was no« 
qualified.” 

“ I have given up the school,” was the embarrassed reply. 
“ But if you will be kind enough to give me your card, I 
will write an address where any communication will reach 

me.” 

Miss Deming handed him her card, and with his pencil 
he wrote the number in the block where the legal firm who 
had employed him had their office. 

After a brief conversation the carriage rolled away and 
left Constant Earle with a heart happier than he had known 
it for many a day. Was “ the righteous forsaken, or his 
seed begging bread ” ? 

On the evening of that day a lady sat pensive in her 
drawing-room. She was robed in a cloud of white silk and 
illusion. Gems glistened in her hair, and an opera cloak, 
gloves, and fan were on the table beside her. She was lis- 
tening for the sound of carriage-wheels. Her escort had not 
yet arrived. Her morning had been a scene of distress. 
The day had rolled up like a mist from the valley, and her 
evening was full of joy. Warwick had been saved, and by 
him. How strange the combination of events that had sent 
that man to hef relief, when so many days and nights had 
been devoted to efibrts and plans to aid him I He had 
anticipated her. He had beennsuffering. She had heard of 
the eagerness with which he had made way with Shorty’s 
dinner. How cruelly Montrose Earle had deceived her 1 He 
had failed to send the promised check, else his brother would 
not have been wandering with a bundle in his hand, and 
greedily devouring her servant’s dinner in her stables. 
Shorty had minutely related the whole occurrence, had read 
the stranger’s name in the Bible, had photographed that 
whole scene for her, and, in the exultation of his grateful 
little heart, had clothed the savior of her favorite in the. 
halo of a deity. He was the most beautiful and skilful be- 
ing he had ever met. He was so quick and earnest and 
noble. Would that his mistress could have looked in when 
that scene was being enacted I 
Now she must arouse herself in earnest to help him. Not 
a day must pass over her without a great and discreet effort 
14 * 


m 


i^Ajetwrcs. 


in his behalf. Poor fellow I how deep had been his draught 
of misery 1 

If one object engrossed the affections of May Delano, after 
her relatives and her friend, Miss Doming, it was Warwick. 

He had been a part of her father’s family. He had come 
down to her in all his magnificent beauty and grace. He 
was associated with her happy past ; he was the companion 
and pride of her orphan life. He returned her affection like 
a loyal subject. She really regarded his intelligence and 
affection for her as unprecedented in the annals of horse- 
flesh. He never failed her. She firmly believed he nevei 
would. Every new demand she made upon his speed or his 
endurance he fulfilled. Warwick honored all such drafts. 
He reverenced her, and would rub his nose against her pet- 
ting arm as if he were human. And when the noble creature 
stretched himself in his death-agony she wept like a child, 
and, covering her face, hastened away. She could not see 
him die. Like a sudden gleam of sunshine the cripple had 
appeared before her with that thrilling word, “ Warwick.** 
The baron of the turf was saved by a stranger, and that 
stranger the author of “ Murmurs from the Deep Sea.” 
How every page, every sentiment of that book, had become 
a part of herself I She had read and re-read it, until she was 
assured that in it the author’s true self spoke. She felt that 
she knew him, had penetrated the secret motives and im- 
pulses of his soul. She longed to know him in society, in his 
true, native element, where his powers could enjoy more 
complete development. That beautiful face was to her indic- 
ative of every noble and generous thought that in that 
book leaped to life in a pure white flame. How divinely 
God had stamped on his exterior the true coinage of his 
secret heart I But her maiden rnodesty had held her back 
jfrom proffering him that assistance which she had bestowed 
upon authors and artists before him. When she had gained 
the promise from Montrose Earle regarding the check, she 
instinctively shrank from approaching him herself. Her ex- 
cuse for so doing would not be manifest. And now, while 
waiting for another to aid him, she had, unwittingly, allowed 
him to suffer. Montrose Earle had deceived her and sent 
his struggling brother no chcbk. No diffidence, or fear of 
offending, should keep her away now from the savior of her 
favorite. He had given her Warwick’s life. That was a 
great debt created. It must be cleared off. No iuteresl 


WJJtWZOE, 


must aocumnlate, did she think so much of this man al 
all times? Was it tii&t he was so intimately connected with 
the man who had likely caused that fearful death-cry in th« 
adjoining house? But she had dreamed of him. He wai 
ever haunting her night-visions. She loved to visit the 
oratory and study that ideal painting which so strongly re- 
sembled him. She seemed ever to see his eyes in the rich, 
blue eyes of her god-child. How was this child connected 
with him, with the murder, with the whole mystery ? By the 
advice of her uncle, she had given Lord Carnochan all the 
facts in her possession regarding the affair. That nobleman 
was endeavoring to trace it out. Detectives, skilful and 
persevering, were upon the trail, and yet thus far she knew 
of nothing that had been unravelled that could fix the crime 
clearly upon the deep, astute, self-possessed Earle. She met 
him often in society ; her uncle had formed his acquaintance 
^nd pronounced him an extremely interesting man. Where 
would it all end ? 

These thoughts again coursed through her brain as she sat 
so queenly in her evening dress, awaiting the arrival of the 
gentleman who was to accompany her to a social gathering 
of the elite* There would she meet her gay, beautiful friend. 
Miss Deming How profoundly interested was that lovely 
girl in Constan* Earle I From the instant she had met him 
in the hospital ^he had commenced to rave about him. The 
interview she had with him in the presence of her father, re- 
garding the rescue, had confirmed her fancy, and his name, 
and his book, and his face were her favorite topics of con- 
versation. Would her friend eventually love him? Would 
Constant Earle be likely to return that regard? Was she 
perfectly willing that her friend should engross him? This 
question annoyed her a little, yet she whispered to 
herself, “Poor, dear girl, she .deserves to be happy; anfl I 
am her true Mend.’’ 


m 


wjJtmoK, 


Cfjapter IIXI. 

(Ml, iiow, or by what means, may I contrive 
To bring the hour that brings thee back more nearT 
Bow may I teaoh my drooping hope to live 
Until that blessed time, and thou art here 7 

F. A. KmuMM. 

Constant Earle had been installed nearly two weeks ad 
Greek tutor at the university. He had a small, but com- 
fortable room, no apprehension regarding his daily bread, a 
jarge table, a bed, and an arm-chair, pen, ink and paper. 
He felt like a king ; happier than a king, for his burden was 
equal day by day. He knew exactly what was expected of 
him. His duties were defined, clear, uniform. This is the 
scholar’s Elysium, — uniformity of routine, and a known regu- 
lar hour for personal study. His evenings were his own. 
He was giving satisfaction in his conduct of the collegiate 
Greek exercises. He knew it. It is pleasant to be appre- 
ciated by our superiors ; it gives us strength in the perform- 
ance of duty. He knew that he must practise rigid economy, 
to avoid that hell of the upright and the sensitive, debt. His 
dress must be plain, his meals frugal, his light economized, 
his passion for purchasing books and a student’s comforts 
in the line of stationery must be curbed. Extraordinary 
husbanding of his salary was demanded for the first few 
months. He was a debtor. Directly upon his accession to 
the tutorship, he had gone to the landlord and demanded the 
amount of balance due for the rent of his school-room after 
the sale of his cIFects. He had notified that surprised indi- 
vidual of his appointment at the university, and his purpose 
to pay him the balance due in a few weeks. He would not 
indulge in a single trific until that debt was paid. The land- 
lord intimated that his quondam tenant must liave come of an 
honest stock. “My father was rigid in his integrity,” was 
the proud response. He defcs led the pai*At who had beg- 
gared him. 

It was now no difficult task to economize. Re had passed 
through a school of discipline. He had acquired the lore of 
the garret. He had taken his diploma in misery and poverty . 
Some men emerge from the colieife of the cobweb and the 
raftei bitter and criminal. Others p*vrifled by 


wuMWnm, 


m 


tJpon their diplomas are stamped “Strength, Sublimity.” 
They emerge from the darkness, what they were not before, 
lords of themselves. Courage, perseverance, will, trust in 
God, belief in the inherent beauty of manly, honest effort, 
react upon the soul, and fortify it against the approaches 
of the foul fiend. If it was glorious, sublime, for Christ to 
suffer and die in the path of labor and honesty, it is noble for 
men to struggle on in his footsteps. If the great Exemplar 
arose triumphant over death, so will men who act from a 
supernatural motive. They will gain the uplifting hand of 
God who reach forth to it. There are heroes on the battle- 
field of poverty, who arise at length and triumph, devoid of 
trust in God. Such victors sometimes in their prosperitj. 
forget the tedious steps of their ascent, and scorn the strug- 
gling behind them. But a man who believes in God, and 
prays as he struggles, will in his triumph remember all on the 
lowest rounds of the ladder. The furnace through which he 
has passed will have purified him of false attributes, of the 
dross of selfishness, of egotism. He will live to elevate all, 
to depress none. There will run through all his appeals in 
behalf of struggling humanity a magnetic power. Men will 
believe him, listen to him, act at his suggestion, for the eter- 
nal fire of truth will flame forth with his words. Experi- 
ence is a double-bladed sword. It prunes the vanities of 
the victim’s heart, at the same moment that it cuts to the 
heart of his auditors. 

Constant Earle was qualified now to influence men. His 
pen would be potent, for adversity had pointed it. Now ho 
could speak to the heart. The "author’s true mission is to 
soften tiie hearts of the proud and the prosperous by images 
of moral beauty in distress ; to stimulate the struggling by 
pointing to the triumphs of energy, ardor, and perseverance. 
He was ready now to robe his inspirations for the' scrutiny 
of society. The aristocratic in him w'as shorn of its excres- 
cences ; the lineage of the soul claimed his attention. He 
was studying that book of heraldry that blazons the sons of 
God. The children of the King of kings and Lord of 
lords are high-bom. Their pedigree is unimpeachable. 
There was no danger that he would advocate ultra or fanati- 
cal political reforms. The true Christian loves the prosper- 
ity and urges the true interest of the State. True religion 
breeds ^ho fanaticism. It advocates wise, liberal govern- 
ments administered by wise, competent men. It is fettered 


m 


WUMWICX. 


by no immutable forms of civil organization. It ^dens ol 
restricts the privileges of the masses, according to the ne- 
cessities of the times. It seeks, like its Founder, to make all 
men happier, freer, better. 

The calm, earnest, resolute Greek tutor was writing 
again. He had his moments of depression and inspiration. 
It is the experience of all men from the cradle to the grave 
But he was more hopeful than in the den of poverty. Th# 
Lord had delivered him from the mouths of its lions. He 
was walking now beside the still waters ; amid the green pas- 
tures he was being led. One serious regret was upon him. 
He had lost Nacoochee, The Evening Star. Where was the 
poor girl who had comforted him, awakened him from his 
lethargy, pointed upward when he fancied himseif deserted ? 
How purely and sweetly came to him the memoiy of The 
Evening Star 1 She was unfortunate, but so gentle to him 
when he needed soothing companionship, so strong in char- 
acter and inspiration when he needed counsel. When he 
was wearied by the labors of the day, she had arisen upon 
the evening of his solitude, clear, glistening, inspiring. He 
had realized the inborn elegance and grace of the girl. Un- 
touched by the hand of fire, she would have stolen the hearts 
of men less susceptible to elegance, and refinement, and in- 
tellect, than the poetic heart of Earle. His imagination had 
enabled him to fiing over her misfortune the soft glamour of 
a dream. In opposition to the advice of his wiser sister, he 
would cultivate her society more than his duties as teacher 
required. “No man,” she said, “should expose himself 
to conquest by a woman who would be constantly commented 
on by society. Now, her deformity is tolerable to you 
through pity, and through appreciation of her ability. By 
and by, when you meet equally gifted women in your own 
native position in society to which your talents will certainly 
restore you some day, women who are nearly perfect physi- 
cally and hold your own rank, you will regret if you have 
encouraged the heart of this poor girl too much. Your con- 
science will reprove you for exciting anticipations which you 
cannot fiilfil.” He had laughed at such speculations regard- 
ing his intimacy with his scholar, and assured his sister that 
their hour of nightly intercourse was purely intellectual. 
He pitied the girl and would aid her in her pursuit of knowl- 
edge. He may or may not ha\e known, from his expo* 
rience in soole^, how beautiful and fascinating were lus per^ 


ITJLHWZCX. 


•on and addK^s ; how, above most men, he was likely to fas« 
oinate, unconsciously, the hearts of women. 

But he had failed to follow the counsel of his sister, and 
now, when Nacoochee was apparently lost to him, he realized 
that he had himself been. fascinated by the poor governess. 
He found himself longing for her society every evening at the 
accustomed hour. He could not take out the brass weight 
to pore over the hieroglyphics, without missing those eyes, 
that dark-robed nun, that figure which appeared at his door, 
in her street- wrappings, like a graceful female of Beira. 

He would lay down his pen often in the evening and sil 
dreamily speculating about her. How strong was her regard 
for him? Would she care to see him again? Would she 
find any one to esteem her as highly as he had done ? Would 
she find sympathy in the family where now she was likely in- 
stalled as governess ? He remembered every word of inter- 
est she had expressed in him. He could not question her 
sincerity. There was an air about her that suggested sin* 
cerity, whenever she took the trouble to appear interested in 
any one. The other night-scholars unquestionably fancied 
her cold and distant. She had sought no familiarity with 
them. To their advances she had returned only courtesy. 
He had observed that. He was a keen observer. He saw 
much that other people little dreamed of. He had passed 
through all the non-emotional schooling of New York city 
society, and was generally guarded. But he felt much, 
though he manifested little. There are gallants in the aris- 
tocratic circles of the metropolis who act the non-emotional 
admirably. They act the truth. There are others, whose 
hearts rise and fall like the ocean surges, who are equally 
non-demonstrative. Such w.’».s Constant Earle. He shrank 
from exposing his holiest impulses and feelings before 
stones. 

He sat one evening in his room thinking of Nacoochee. 
Ho was endeavoring to analyze his feelings regarding that 
girl. When a man cannot pronounce decidedly upon the 
emotion he has for a woman, be had better avoid her, unless 
he is perfectly willing to follow her up to any legitimate con- 
sequence of intimacy. If he is willing to follow his heart 
into the obligations of friendship, or the meshes of love, 
whichever may result, he can proceed. If not, wisdom sug- 
gests his devoting his time to other ''ubjectu *>f ^Hwght, 
tie fire if warmth is unnecessary* Tb# diotata 


WASmOM. 


288 

of physical and mental health. He could see rising befbre 
him, dimly as yet, the gates which were to readmit him to 
society. He anticipated that the day was not far distant 
when his garments would improve in quality ; when a portion 
of his evenings might be passed in the society of ladies. 
He remembered the flutter of silks, the perfhme of flowers, 
the light laughter of society, the cadence of music, the white 
arms of belles, and the incense of flattery. He might find 
himself in the magic ring ere long, and something of the 
poetic awakened within him at the thought. Poetic natures 
revel in beauty, music, refined sounds, artistic scenes. 
There are strong men who care not for beauty, elegance, 
music. Against these the great dramatist has issued his 
warning : “ Let no such man be trusted.” If in the natural 
order of events the invitation which was lying upon his table 
at that moment, and for that evening, should lead to other 
invitations, and to his precipitation into the whirlpool of 
society, how long was the memory of Nacoochee likely to 
dwell with him ? Was he willing to forget her ? There would 
be an inconsistency, if ever he should meet her again, 
after his entrance into society, in maintaining an intimacy 
with her. She was only a governess. Madame Lookout and 
Miss Accidental would be sure to see them together. An 
Earle conversing intimately with a governess 1 K he was 
not injured by the report, the poor, earnest, noble governess 
would certainly be. The man who trusts his barque upon 
the uncertain waves of society must keep his sails trimmed 
for sudden gales of slander, reproach, defamation. It is not 
always easy to act wisely. Wisdom, in navigating the shoal 
waters of society, is not cleaidy laid down in the charts. 
The struggles between the natural impulses of the heart and 
the dictates of prudence are known only to those who feel. 
It is no efibrt to cut the acquaintance of a humble one, who 
has been kind, on the part of one of society’s stone gizzards. 
But a generous heart aches if society finds fault, and circu- 
lates scandal for a word dropped in passing, or a hearty 
^eeting of one who is beyond the pale of the elite. There 
is not the same difficulty in passing unnoticed a laborer or a 
goveraess. One has no rank, and expects nothing where 
recognition is likely to embarrass ; the other may be, and 
often is, a lady who is entitled to recognition by all the ac- 
complishments, education, and manners which make any one 
presentable ; and yet she may be far outside of the psile. 


W'AJtWrCK. 


m 

and anaoccurate sense of propriety will sometimes find itself 
puzzled to steer without touching rocks. 

If he should enter society and meet Nacoochee as a gov- 
erness, how intimate should he be with her, if the circum 
stances should be such that intimacy might cause scandal or 
offence ? Nature had made her a lady, and yet she was poo;: 
and unrecognized. She was refined, graceful, intelligent, 
beyond the mass of his female acquaintances. If she were 
in society, she would be pitied and styled brilliant. How 
much did he value her true laerit, — herself? 

His reverie was interruptfed by a knock at the door and 
the announcement that the expressman had a package for 
him. He went down to the street door, and the messenger 
delivered a minute parcel to him. The charges had been 
paid in advance. It came from the city, and had been left 
at the express office. The messenger knew no more. Won- 
dering who could have sent him such a trifling package, 
which was about the size of a wedding-cake box, he walked 
up again to his room, speculating upon who might have been 
married. Perhaps it was Miss Deming, to whose father he 
was indebted for his tutorship. He untied the string, re- 
moved the white wrapping paper, and discovered that it was 
indeed a wedding-cake box. He opened it. No fruit-cake 
was there. It was full of soft pink tissue paper. He re- 
moved that, and found a note beneath addressed to himself. 
He recognized the chirography. The note was from his 
quondam Spanish scholar. How had she found him out? 
A stranger would have fancied that the tutor opened and read 
the note eagerly. He was soon master of its contents. 

“ Mb. Eable, — I came to recite my last lesson, and, lo 1 you 
had gone. I was confident you would wait for me, and hence I 
took the libert}^ of delaying a little beyond my usual time. A 
matter of pressing necessity detained me. I found a stranger 
in possession of your room and left very much disappointed. 
You have ever exhibited so much patience with me in my 
Spanish exercises, and then, too, you have been so kind in 
directing my readings of ancient history, and affording mo 
the benefit of your learned suggestions and criticisms, that 
I cannot forbear offering you a trifling testimonial of my re- 
gard at parting. Please accept this ring, and, if you will 
not wear it (as 1 notice that you never wear rings), keep it 
•ome where where you will (iimuee to it occasionally and 


£90 


WIBWICA' 


be reminded of ‘ Nacoochee * your pupL, and the respect bIm 
has for you. 

“ Do you wonder that I found you out? Nothing appears 
difficult when I recall your favorite proverb : ‘ Mas vaU 
mana que fuerza: la paciencia y la reflexion hacen facilet 
muchas cosas, que parecian imposibles a primera vista' 
You were so anxious to collate everything relating to Solon, 
with reference to the interpretation of the hieroglyphics on 
the back of your mother’s picture, that I send you, with my 
farewell, a fact which you did not appear to remember at our 
last interview. Solon was connected jEith the island of 
Salamis, if certain historians are worthy of credit. Diogenes 
Laertius and Aristotle both relate that his ashes were 
scattered about the island of Salamis according to his own 
directions. Some historians ridicule this as mere fable. 
Farewell, my kind instructor. May your dreams be realized 1 
And when the earth shall yield up her dead may you meet 
in the better land the face of ‘ Nacoochee ’ no longer dis 
figured and covered. You have often expressed your ap- 
prehensions regarding my future. Fear not for me, kind 
friend. I have a strong will, and a brave heart, and shall 
no doubt live comfortably enough. A quien madruga Dios 
le ayuda. But I have reason to feel anxious on your account. 
You must not write so late at night. You will overtax 
your brain, and then you will be crippled for life perhaps. 
Pardon me for alluding to this subject again. I cannot 
but cherish a high regard for you and advise you as a friend. 
To no dudo que F. sea mi amigo, Nacoochee.” 

Gratified at this aflfectionate token of the poor girl’s 
remembrance of him, he laid aside her note, and found the 
ring wrapped in tissue paper at the bottom of the box. 
What was his suiprise to see that she had saved up enough 
of her earnings as teacher to purchase him a valuable am- 
ethyst seal ring I The stone was large and exquisitely 
beautiful in its color, and on it was engraved these words 
from the Koran, which he had exhibited to her one evening 
in a copy of that book he had borrowed ; ‘‘ Dhouncon hadih 
alne-dhirat ” — “ Behold the offering which I make to thee.” 
According to the Mahometan tradition, when St. Anne was 
delivered of the Virgin Mary she presented her to the priests 
with these words. He had spoken of tliese matters in al« 
to the remarkable admission of «o eniir;e.nt a 


WAAWlCk, 


Ms 


tJk Gibbon regarding the religious traditions m Palestine. 
“ The Christians,” said Gibbon, “ point out by undoubted 
tradition the scene of every memorable event.” Nacoochee 
h&d appeared to treasure every word that fell from Earle’s 
lips. Her memory had surprised him often. Here was 
another manifestation of it. 

He tried the ring upon his fingers until he found one that 
it would fit. It rested at length upon the third finger of his 
left hand. He would never part with that ring. It was the 
talisman of gratitude, more sacred to him than the tomb at 
Ecbatana where the Persian Jews crowd at the feast of 
Phurim to honor the noble Esther, who braved death to save 
her people. He was happier far to be thus remembered by 
this girl than he was willing even to admit to himself. He 
leaned back in his chair, and held the ringed finger up to the 
lamp-light. The flash of the precious stone was effective. 
He knew Miss Deming would notice it, and remark upon it 
when he should call on her again, which would be within the 
hour. The invitation on his table was to a small and select 
musical soiree at her residence. He studied the beauty aid 
workmanship of the ring for a time, and then took up the 
note for a second reading. He started as he glanced at the 
heading. She had given him no address. Where should he 
find her? No doubt it was her maiden modesty that caused 
the omission. She would testify her gratitude to him, but 
not appear to in\ ite him to her society. He admired this 
reserve. He could not but admit the delicacy of the affair. 
She had gone forth alone as a governess, had testified her 
gratitude, and then retired into silence and obscurity. But 
he was frantic now to see her. He had been dreaming of 
her. She had become, to a certain extent, a necessity to 
him. He was a caller upon no ladies but his sister and Miss 
Deming. He was fearfully excited when he discovered that 
he had not found Nacoochee after all. He was nervous, and 
paced up and down his room in distress. The whole brood 
of the Eumenides seemed to take possession of him. He 
walked rapidly, furiously, — eagerly whispering her name ; 
“ Nacoochee, dear, sweet, noble girl ! where are you? Oh, 
for one minute’s intercourse with you 1 I must see you. I 
will see you.” 

Finally he dropped into his chair, and wrote an advertise- 
ment for the “ Personal ” of a city paper, begging for the ad 
dress of Nacoochee. 


WAMWSOm* 


m 


®l)apter II25I. 

All tongues apetik of him. 

CoBioLisrus. 

CoKSTANT Eable, as he was ushered into the drawing-r'XHM 
of Miss Demiug, fancied a change must have occurred in the 
phraseolog}^ of society since he had been familiar with its 
haunts. He had been invited to a small and select musical 
and here were two great drawing-rooms already 
crowded with beautiful forms, gay faces, clouds of muslin, 
silks, laces, and all illumined by a hundred lights, and the 
repeated stroke of the street door-bell told of others still 
pouring in. A flush of excitement stole to his face. This 
was his native element. He pushed his way quietly through 
the throng towards the hostess. Beautiful eyes gazed, and 
then drooped their lashes as they -met his in passing. They 
recognized instinctively a leader and a prince of elegant fes- 
tivity. In another instant a bow of recognition reached him 
from a beautiful girl too closely hemmed in bj'^ the throng 
for him to approach her. She had been a belle of his circle 
and greeted him with an angel’s smile. He had not been 
forgotten entirely ; that was manifest. Another and an- 
other recognition followed as he moved slowly on, and then 
a murmur arose behind him. He saw at one side a sylph- 
like form in a white robe, a gossamer fabric like the mist 
which curls upward at the glance of the sun. She looked 
steadily at him a moment, and then spoke rapidly to her 
friend, tapping her first with her fan to make her turn about. 
Both ladies looked towards him. At that instant some gen- 
tleman behind him remarked, “ Yes, that is the lion, — that 
is the author of Polymnia ; a fine thing it is too. I know 
him very well, and will introduce you after a while.” The 
blood mounted quickly to his cheek. A thrill of delight 
and surprise possessed him. What in the name of the mar- 
vellous could that mean? Could they moan him? Who 
knew that he was really the author of Polymnia? Any 
doubt that he was the occasion of the murmur which soon 
became general throughout the first saloon was dispelled by 
another remark close beside him from a perfect stranger. 

** U’s the greatest ontrage f ever heard of Ha i» the 


WjJtmaM, 


m 


fchor, and they robbed him of his manuscript. If there is no 
law for such theft, I don’t see the use of having law to pro- 
tect any kind of property. Bead it? Of course I read it 
Who hasn’t read it? It’s the best thing of the year.” 

Utterly astounded, the author pushed on into the second 
saloon, looking for the hostess. How had this transpired? 
Strangers were discussing him on every side. How could they 
know his "personal appearance, much less know what was the 
secret of his sister, Nacoochee, the Hebrew, and the printer’s 
wife alone, — all obscure and beyond the circle in which he was 
now moving? Women are terrible flatterers with the eye. 
Entire batteries of glances were flred at him as he made his 
way. Each woman seemed bent on receiving a passing 
glance from him. 

“ Yes I It has just transpired. It came out in the ‘ Even- 
ing Express.’ Oh I Polymnia is too sweet for anything,” ex- 
claimed a maiden of sixteen, as she swept a rose-col- 
ored train out of his way, just in time to escape his foot, and 
gave him a flash of two eyes, piercing and black as the 
heart-thieves that twinkle beneath the gracefully folded man- 
tilla of an Andalusian senora. She was walking with a gen- 
tleman, and seemed to care little if the author did overhear 
her. 

“ Constant Earle, Ait <p(h** exclaimed a voice near him. 
He turned at that familiar sound. 

“ Who calls by that term, applied only to kings and he- 
roes? Why, Professor bond, my dear old friend, how happy 
I am to see you I A familiar face from the old college is 
joy to me indeed.” 

“And are you not the favorite of Zeus? Every one is 
raving about you. Give me your hand, if you can do it with- 
out thrusting it through a cloud of lace or drapery. I beg 
your pardon, madam, I was trying to give my hand to one 
of my old pupils. That hair is beautiful as the hair of the 
Graces. Pardon my profane touch.” 

“ One so gallant, professor, requires no pardon,” was the 
response of the propitiated dame, as she put up her hand to 
her back hair and moved on. 

“ Qa*eUe est sotte de le croire t ” whispered a lady contempt- 
ously to her friend, who had likewise overheard the compli- 
ment. 

At this Instant a swell of harmony arose upon the conlh* 
sion, which immediately was hushed. Voices were mute^ sllkt 


m 


WABWWJt, 


ceased their rustiing, the charm of the melody up€m ali 
It gathered power and sweetness, that solo voice, as 
gushed forth in the inspiring theme, buoyed up by the mel- 
low, solemn power of the parlor organ. It was adapted, to t 
single voice with choral responses, from the simple but sub- 
lime “Improperia” of Palestrina. She was uttering the 
mild reproaches of the Saviour's voice to his ungrateful peo- 
ple, and the slow yet bold, full yet soft responses of the 
amateur choir came back with sweet devotional melody. 
“ Holy God, Mighty God, Immortal God,” and ever and 
anon as her pure voice breathed its mild and reproachful 
sweetness over the hushed assembly, there was an involun- 
tary straining forward to catch a glimpse of the solo singer 
hidden by the crowd. Again and again responded the melt- 
ing modulation of the choir, until every heart was hushed in 
softened adoration before the presence of God. Oh, sweet, 
noly, precious, sacred music ; link of the chain leading to our 
lost heirship of paradise ; pledge that we have not lost utterly 
our hope of communing with angels ; how gently she whis- 
pers us back to God, to a loving Saviour, to an immortality 
of bliss ! 

The music ceased, and Constant Earle pushed forward to 
salute the hostess. She was dressed in pink silk with a 
wreath of white lilies in her hair. Her white gloved hand 
held a magnificent bouquet. Her eyes glistened with delight 
as she saw him. 

“ I am so glad you have come. Did you hear the Impro- 
peria?” 

“ Yes, indeed ! For a moment I fancied I was alone and 
that exquisite solo was my angel whispering me heavenward. 
Who is she?” 

“ Why, that is May Delano, my intimate friend. I must 
Introduce you. Give me your arm.” 

He acquiesced at once, and conducted her to the group about 
the organ. 

At last they met face to face, that graceful princess, the 
pride and envy of the elite^ and the elegant, e&rnest scholar. 
She knew him at last. He was speaking to her in the sub- 
dued, polished witchery of tongue and eye for which he had 
been so renowned in his set. The original of the portrait 
was before her ; his mysterious eye looked into her own re- 
spectfully, but with the instinctive consciousness that it had 
met a native of the poetic valley, the ideal Arcadia. Sh« 


nrALBWrCK, 




had held many new idols of society in her spell for a mo* 
meat, and then dismissed them from her thoughts as she 
turned at a word, or to accept an invitation to dance. She 
had known and fascinated men of genius without any fasci* 
nation being excited in return. She had encountered now a 
pure, noble spirit, calm, self-reliant, powerful to withstand 
female fascination, and yet evidently so capable of appreciat- 
ing true womanhood, true everything, that he was a conquest 
which every woman might suggest to her own heart. His 
polished tones wandered on through the mazes of a volatile 
conversation as if society were sunshine, and he intended to 
bask comfortably for a time, enjoy himself, and then return 
refreshed for duty. There was not the slightest manifesta- 
tion that he was more impressed by her society than by the 
other gifted and agreeable girls who were presented to him. 
He manifested interest in many, devotion to none. She 
spoke to him of Polymnia and the excitement it had occa- 
sioned. He was gratified apparently, nothing more. She 
introduced subjects of conversation from several depart- 
ments of knowledge, and upon some topics he was eloquent, 
appearing to have penetrated to an undercurrent of thought 
which underlies the ordinary comprehension of things. His 
mind was suggestive, not merely retentive. The two were 
eoon parted by the requirements of the assembly and the 
musical part of the entertainment, in which she was a promi- 
nent actress. He listened to her music again and again, 
and was charmed, for she played and sang admirably. But 
there were many demands upon his attention. Lions are 
overwhelmed by introductions and conversational skirmishes. 

But while his attention w^as engrossed by society. May 
Delano was watching him at every possible and natural op- 
portunity. She discovered several positive attempts to en- 
gross and fascinate him. He managed to shake these 02f 
naturally, perhaps unconsciously. But she failed not to 
observe that the central point of interest for him fluctuated 
finally between her friend and herself. But that was suscept- 
ible of easy solution. Miss Doming hjM aided him to the 
tutorship, and Miss Delano was her intimate friend. But 
it was, nevertheless, a slight cause of female annoyance, and 
•he experienced it, that he was the first man who had ever 
found any one equally attractive with herself when she had 
really exerted herself to please. His interest in her friend 
and in herself was apparently equally deep. These refiep 


296 


^ARmCK, 


tions were indulgetl in during brief intervals of the soda! 
skirmishing, for a STvarm of gallants watched Miss Delano's 
every movement, and some of them were extremely interest- 
ing men. But it is a peculiarity of belleship to leave the 
ninety and nine and look after the one, especially when that 
wandering one is beautiful and graceful as Apollo, and 
learned as Henry the “ Beau Clerc.” 

But Miss Delano's powers of observation and criticism 
were speedily furnished with additional material. An ardent 
admirer of her talents and beauty entered the drawing-room. 
A flutter was perceptible among the beauties of the soiree. 
The new-comer was a well-known savant, and an elegant 
entertainer. His gi-eat ball recently given in an assembly- 
room was the sensation of the social world. Every woman 
au courant of entertainments in the metropolis had heard of 
Montrose Earle. Long and favorably known in society as a 
polished gentleman and erudite scholar, he had, since his ac- 
cession to his father's wealth, and his return from abroad, 
gained notoriety by the magnificence of his hospitality a.nd 
the splendor of his equipage. The beauty of his Arabian 
steeds was the admiration of every woman. They were con- 
spicuous in the park and on the avenue. Extraordinary 
reports were in circulation regarding his dinners at Delmon- 
ico’s. The company was select, the entrees unrivalled. T he 
bo7is mots and the bonnes bouches were incomparable. His 
clarets and champagnes had been selected by his own hands 
from the best cellars of Europe. Ladies went into ecstasies 
over the pyramids of flowers which rendered these dinners 
fragrant wildernesses. The rumors of his summer retire- 
ment at “Silvicola" and his close devotion to abstruse stud- 
ies in the vicinity of wild beasts and serpents, his entomo- 
logical cabinets, rivalling the collections of Swammerdam, 
his servants from the Orient in their national costumes, his 
skill in several remarkable cases which had been submitted 
to his medical judgment, and the rare blending of courtesy 
and acquirements, which all acknowledged, rendered the 
name of this king of literati a wonder and a toast among the 
dite. The fact had transpired that “ Silvicola” was barred 
apinst all women. Then why should he entertain la- 
dies in the metropolis? He was a bachelor.' Hence the 
mystery of Ms summer retreat was puzzling in the ex- 
treme. Several young ladies were understood to have in- 
jured their precious brains, at the instigation of their mammast 


WARWICR. 


m 

In cramming them with scientific terms and data, to make 
themselves recipients of his condescension and favor. His 
scientific shoulders were said to carry a gold mine among 
other undeveloped acquisitions. 

He came in quietly enough, pusliing his short, compact 
figure slowly through the crowd, and speaking pleasantly to 
all acquaintances on his route to the hostess. He made 
brief work of his conversation with Miss Deming and her 
father, and soon anchored beside Miss Delano. She had 
anticipated this destination of his moving figure, and was 
speculating as to the effect upon him of the presence of his 
brother, and the discovery that he had suddenly become a 
lion, when she was startled by this remark addressed to her 
self. His tactics appeared to have been utterly changed. 

“ I am so glad to hear that my brother has won a great 
success. He has talents of a high order. I see by the paper 
to-night that his book, which was stolen from him, has 
brought out the highest eulogiums from the press. Do you 
know him. Miss Delano?” 

“ You never did me the honor to mention that you had a 
brother,” was the response. She was amazed at the man’s 
coolness, the ease with which ho accommodated his dislikes 
to the judgment of popularity. 

“ Ah ! perhaps not. Constant has received all my advan- 
ces in such a strange spirit, that I have deemed it politic 
never to allude to our family matters. Do you recollect the 
young man who saved my life and your friend’s? That was 
my brother. I told you of my intention to send him a check 
for ten thousand.” 

“ You did, indeed, so promise.” 

“ That promise was fulfilled. Miss Delano. But be re- 
turned the check, saying that he would have nothing to do 
with me. Still, I .cannot but be interested in his success. 
You may, or may not, know that my father deemed it best to 
leave me his property. I do not know his motive. I can 
only imagine that he believed the interests of his children 
would be best promoted by leaving everything in my hands. 
If Constant will not receive property from me, what can I 
do?” 

“ I have been presented to your gifted brother, this even- 
ing. He impresses me as being of a very candid, generous 
nature. I have a suggestion to make to you, Mr. Elarle, if 
you will not consider it impertinent,” 


m 


WAMjnCK. 


“ Speak on, Miss Delano ; you are fuxly a^^are already, erf 
my anxiety to win your favor. I am not an unreasonabi« 
man. What would you intimate to me in this regard ? ” 

“ Make one of those generous advances, which humanity, 
as well as religion, dictates. Go and speak to your brothel 
before this assembly. Congratulate him on his book, and 
offer him your hand.” 

“ With all my heart, and on the instant. You will wit- 
ness my deference to your wishes ; ” and, to her amazement, 
he went directly to a knot of ladies collected about Constant, 
extended his hand, which was warmly received, and openly 
avowed his delight at the discovery that he was the author 
of “ Polymnia,” and had been vindicated ably in the evening 
paper. Miss Delano scarcely believed the evidence of her 
senses. Keenly watching him for so long a period, as one 
unnatural and suspicious, she experienced at this moment a 
revulsion of feeling. His act appeared to confirm his state- 
ment that he had not been remiss in the duties of a brother. 
How little did she comprehend, at that moment, the cunning 
and finesse of that cool, scheming intellect I He had heard 
of his brother’s advancement to the Greek tutorship, and had 
in the pocket of his coat, at that moment, the evening paper 
which had startled the literary world by the announcement 
of the fraud practised upon the author. Instantly his change 
of tactics was determined upon. There was no longer hope 
of starving and humiliating his brother into a relinquish- 
ment of the brass weight. He must secure possession of it 
by cunning. He had no inherent hate of his brother. That 
sentiment, in all its bitterness, was reserved for his sister. 
It would not avail her now to exert her influence to secure 
him the possession of the mother’s picture. She never could 
regain his favor. But in his secret heart he really admired 
the beauty and tajents of his brother. They were a part of 
the sum total which makes up family pride. Montrose Earle 
possessed within himself the loftiest pride of birth and 
family. Constant had thwarted him in a matter which was 
of wonderful and engrossing importance. He craved the 
possession of that relic from Salamis as the traveller in the 
desert craves the water of the oasis. It had become a secret 
necessity to him. The yearning for it haunted his dreams, 
iis cabalistic symbolism was his morning thought and his 
evening passion. He fancied that he had discovered the 
mtrinsic value of that mother’s gift. Have it he would, 




m 


if death eve;i In his way. He had been confident that 
toil, privation, suffering, would at length induce Constant 
to part with it for a handsome sum. But in the firmness of 
a sacred promise he had found his brother adamant. A 
relaxation of his sternness had resulted from his brother’s 
heroic salvation of his life. He acted liberally and sent hiii 
a large check. The heroic in the toiling brother had not 
been tamed by poverty. The check came back. It was too 
like a bribe for saving human life. His family pride was 
again gratified ; but his soul was furious that poverty could 
not soften the Earle resolution in this instance. Ho must 
patiently wait for suffering to produce its taming influence. 
But the bitterness of the trial seemed to have passed by. 
Constant was soaring on his own talents. He would not be 
put down. The relic from Saiamis would never be wrung 
from him now. The hour for intrigue had arrived. That 
brass weight should be his at every hazard. He, too, pos- 
sessed the Earle will, the indomitable purpose, the undy- 
ing wrestling with obstacles. It cost him no effort then to 
approach his brother again. By that move he would please 
Miss Delano, — whom he hoped to subdue and win yet, — 
and, at the same time, advance to within striking distance 
of the mysterious talisman, the great ambition of his life. 
Constant Earle was amazed at his condescension, taken 
completely by surprise ; but, as the Christian instinct was 
uppermost, he gave him his hand, cordially shook it, and 
listened kindly to him. While the two brothers remained in 
conversation, it transpired that Constant had not seen the 
evening paper which revealed the real author of “ Polymnia.” 
Montrose Earle at once took it from his coat-pocket and 
gave it to him. Human nature was not proof against tne 
temptation to read it immediately. He managed to with- 
draw from the jam, and, making his way to the gentlemen’# 
dressing-room, opened the paper and read the article eagerly. 
It was from a correspondent, who signed, at the 
eemmoiiiMtion, the mysterious letter W 


Md 


f^AMWi&e. 


Cfiapter 

** 8»y what is honor ? ’Tla tho fairest sense 
Of jnetioe whioh the human mind can frame, 

Intent each larking frailty to disclaim, 

And guard the way of ^^e from all ofTenoe 
Soffered or done.” 

“ The following: communication we have read carefVilly, 
ftnd have examlued the two books as suggested. In ooi 
opinion they must have been written by the same author. 
— Editor. 

“PoLTMNiA AGAIN. — No rumor is penned this time, but a 
hard, cruel fact. This eloquent appeal in behalf of virtue, 
honor, integrity, and learning, which has thrilled so many 
thousands of hearts, was deliberately stolen from the author, 
copied into a different handwriting, offered to a publishing- 
house, and instantly accepted, and given to the world as the 
work of another. Mr. Constant ^!arle, a son of the merchant 
prince whose name and virtues are still fresh in the memory 
of our leading citizens, was standing in a crowd before the 
publishing-house, endeavoring to gain admittance, tc offer 
the manuscript of Polymnia, when the book was suddenly 
taken from him in the jam, and the thief escaped. The 
author appealed at once to a policeman for assistance in 
recovering his papers, but every effort proved unavailing. 
The rascal was too expert at his profession. A Hebrew, 
named Rupener, witnessed the act and cleared a way for tho 
author to pursue the robber. But he had concealed the bun- 
dle, and could not be identified in the crowd. The pub- 
lisher received a manuscript, in an entirely different hand- 
writing, from a printer by no means renowned for his habits 
of sobriety and industry. This man receives the honor 
and profits accruing from the book, as the proof is not sufll- 
cient in a court of law to establish the fact that he is not 
the author. But there are inherent evidences which will 
satisfy a generous and literary public that Mr. Earle is the 
real author of Polymnia. About two years ago, Damandy, 
the weii-known publisher, received from Mr. Earle a manu- 
script which was issued to the world under the title of ‘ Mur 
mura from the Deep Sea.* He there assumed the nom d€ 
plume of * Iconoclast.* Let any careful critic compare tlif 


WARWICK, 


m 

tftyle and imagery of tliat book, with the peculiar character! 
of Polymnia’s pages, and he will an ivc infallibly at the con- 
clusion that the same pen wrote both books. N.” 

The music from the drawing-room came in rich, glorioui 
choral bursts, calling him away from his reverie to enjoy- 
ment, society, flattery. He heeded it not. He was dream- 
ing of The Evening Star, the noble girl who had rescued his 
name from oblivion, who had given him his real desert, in 
defiance of his self-renunciation. There was but one N. for 
him, — Nacoochee. He had told her all. In a moment of de- 
votion to him and his interests, she had flung to the winds 
his name on the banner of fame. He could not deny hia 
authorship. Polymnia was his child. It was the toil, the 
patience, the martyr-crown of poverty and pain. No mat- 
ter what opposition might arise to his claim, she had spread 
it uver the continent, and it was truth. What he never 
would have done for himself, Nacoochee did for him. How 
he blessed her sweet name as he stood there alone ; how he 
longed to see her, that gifted, noble, bright-eyed, mutilated 
being, who esteemed him so highly, and yet evaded him now ; 
who gave him the token ring of gratitude, and then was ob- 
scured! Would she answer his advertisement? How 
eagerly would he scan the “Personals” of every morning 
paper for her answer I Would she see it? Alas ! the doubt 
was an agony. He turned slowly from his thoughts of her 
and re-entered the di'awing-room. Who dreamed, in that 
brilliant assemblage which honored him, that his heart was 
absent with a nunlike, humble daughter of Eve, plainly 
dressed, and disfigured by fire ? He looked in vain for a hand 
more graceful than hers, for a form more sylph-like, an eye 
more lustrous. And yet she was only a poor, humble, strug- 
gling, scarred governess, who could never enter that gay and 
brilliant throng. Was there ever a man courted, flattered, 
conscious of great personal beauty, and able by his attrac- 
tions of intellectual power to win the fairest and loveliest 
queens of the social circle, so true to a memory of humble 
worth as to ignore the splendor of the high-born and power- 
ful belle, and voluntarily return to the obscure idol ? Such 
men are rare, and 3"et. the fancies of some hearts are so 
strange, so absorbing, so madly bent on securing the love cf 
the humble gem which a poetic nature has clothed with id?al 
attributes, that the ooor seem to them radiant as the em 
2 « 


802 


WARWICK, 


press, graceful as the fairy, pure as the angel, and desirabU 
as the impossible ownership of the star. Love is a madness, 
or a holy gift of God. If a madness, let each one shun it; 
If a divine appointment, let the heart cling to that idol 
which alone can render it happy, peaceful, contented. This 
was the conviction of Constant Earle as he wandered through 
the assembly, recognizing every grace and beauty about him, 
and yet whispering to himself, “Nacoochee is not here.” 
This was the poetic belief of May Delano as she stole 
glances at him, moving imperially on his way. The grip of 
the tyrant was upon that fair one, as she strove to appear un- 
concerned and gay as usual. She was hiding her infatua- 
tion. It is the instinct of the proud woman. The thoughts 
and the dreams of her life had centred at last. She had 
loved long and unconsciously. She had not interpreted her 
emotion aright. The magnetism of contact had alone di- 
vulged the fact that she loved. She realized it, and the 
proud heart retreated to cover. The stag-like poise of the 
head was more haughty, the laughter louder, the vivacity 
more general. She would bury that fearful emotion, that 
clinging to a magnificent revelation of manhood and power. 
No one know it. She had succumbed to weakness, perhaps. 
Let the ease of her exterior conceal the acknowledgment 
from all but herself. He had made no advances. Dignity, 
modesty, pride, demanded her reticence, her show of uncon- 
sciousness. And her friend loved him. What wonder? 
Was he not no’Ble, gifted, worthy of any woman’s love? 
Her fortitude was soon tested. Constant Earle sought her 
again. With a smile he approached her, surrounded by her 
admirers. She admitted him to the charmed circle. Sh*» 
would treat all alike. This was her purpose when she s^aw 
him approach. “Why does he seek me again? I did not 
anticipate this. I must provoke the jealousy of no one 
about me.’' Vain thought, false consciousness of strength I 
Love is not sent to make us strong, but weak, not to teach 
as isolation, but to learn us to cling. She turned to him 
magnetically. She struggled at first, but the struggle was 
short. The power of his eye was upon her, the magic of his 
utterances held her spellbound. He gradually but surely 
took the leadership of conversation from the gentlemen 
around her. He engrossed her attention ; the words of oth- 
ers soon lost their charm ; she preferred to hear him talk. 
Neglected ones grew annoyed, weary, and one by one tamed 


WARWICK. 


m 

away. At last she was alone with him, proud and brilliant 
in her manner, but slowl}^ surely, yielding to his fascinating 
tongue, his eloquent, magnetic eye, his earnestness, his 
power. She knew not that the hour was waxing late ; that 
keen eyes were conscious of her absorption ; that Miss Dom- 
ing was looking at intervals sadly towards her. At last the 
confusion of the party breaking up reached her ears. She 
was amazed at her failure to retain her self-command, and 
resumed it again like an empress. She bowed kindly, but 
with dignity, away from him. A woman for whose love 
gifted ones had pleaded in vain loved without solicitation. 
She had really loved long. Constant Earle had won a heart 
which would sacrifice and suflfer for him absolutely and for- 
ever. He passed the remaining minutes of his stay beside the 
young hostess and her father. But as Miss Delano swept 
away with her escort she glanced back towards the savior 
of Warwick. How strange that his eyes should be following 
her exit ! 

Montrose Earle advanced to his brother as he was about 
to leave the house. 

“ Constant, my carriage is here, and I want to take you 
home. I must see where you live. Come, no remonstrance.” 

The brothers rode away together for the first time since 
the death of their father. It was the first time Constant 
Earle had put his foot in a carriage since he had come to 
poverty. So many long and tedious months of garret and 
noisy school, hospital life and obscurity, and now leaning 
back in an elegant carriage whose comfortable cushions re- 
called the luxury of an Eastern sybarite ! 

“You have proved yourself. Constant, far superior to me. 
You have pardoned my insult to you in the cemetery by 
simple Christian forgiveness, and vindicated your prowess by 
saving my life. You have overwhelmed me with obligations 
which you will not allow me to clear ofl*. I have been insane 
in my desire to own that picture. Let the past be forgotten. 
You have honored our family name ; and I am truly grieved 
that my anxiety to gain that picture has made me forget my 
duties as a brother.” 

Constant Earle was deeply moved. 

“ Forget the past, Montrose. May God pardon me as 
truly and really as I have forgiven 3"ou! Nothing but the 
solemn promise given to my mother that I would not part 
with the weight during my life, prevents me giving it toyov 


^04 


WJLMWim, 


to-night. I have no property but that relic of my mother, 
and I have made a will giving it to you at my death. That 
is all that honor will allow me to do. Let us speak no more 
of what is impossible and I hope will never be alluded to 
again.” 

“Only one question regarding it, Constant, and then I 
shall be forever silent. Why did mother charge you so sol- 
emnly never to part with it during life ? ” 

“ Montrose, I do not know. The Greek who gave it to 
her charged her to pass it down from generation to genera- 
tion as an heir-loom, because his ancestor believed that the 
interpretation of its symbols would some day benefit science, 
would reveal some important knowledge of the ancients. 
These were mother’s ideas regarding it so far as she ever 
revealed them.” 

They rode on quietly then. The fhrther discussion of the 
weight was hushed by the promise of silence. But in the in- 
domitable heart of Montrose Earle the purpose arose to gain 
possession of it that very night. He was moving nearer 
and nearer to it every revolution of the carriage-wheels. 
The calm, heroic heart beside him was incapable of appre- 
ciating the contemplated perfidy of the schemer. He could 
not comprehend a man, humiliating himself by avowing his 
cruelty, and appealing to the gentlest emotions of a brother’s 
heart for pardon only that he might by cunning place his 
hand upon the antique from Salamis. Suspicion in a noble 
nature is a plant of long growth. The winds and the rains 
of many summers must prepare a generous heart to nourish 
suspicion of that which approaches under cover of a smile 
and a pleasant word. 

They gained the lodgings of the Greek tutor, and Montrose 
Earle had craftily wormed from his brother, during that ride, 
every item of his hopes and expectations in life, the amount 
of his small salary, and the deficit due to his late landlord. 
The extraordinary fact that he was to receive no compensation 
for Polymnia was a pleasant guaranty of his future poverty. 
Constant Earle would not divulge to him that the prin^r 
was in his power. It was his sacrifice for God, and rested 
entirely within the area of secrets to be unshared. Mon- 
trose Earle could not have appreciated the Christian heroism 
of that night-struggle. He would have believed his brother 
a proper subject for a lunatic asylum in the pardo>i of the 
It was true he had called the forgiveness, besldf 


WAMWICX, 




his mother’s grave, Clirlstian. He had employed a word of 
cant to subserve his purpose. He really believed that suf 
fering and poverty had made his brother an arrant coward. 
His awakening from this delusion was just ahead. There 
was another “ wall of ice” than the Christian one of Tours, 
against which the Arab host dashed itself to pieces. It was 
Constant Earle defending a mother’s memory and a sacred 
right. 

As Montrose Earle, upon alighting, was about to turn 
from the carriage and follow his brother, he gave a low com- 
mand in Arabic to the footman. He had forgotten, or was 
not aware, that Constant had learned the language of the 
nomads of the East in his travels. The younger brother 
deemed the command a singular one, but he said nothing. 
Why should Montrose dipct the footman to follow them up- 
stairs ? He was a tall and athletic child of the desert, and 
came stealthily up the steps after them. He entered the hall 
with them, and, following them up the stairs, took his station 
Just outside of the door of the tutor’s room. There he re- 
mained, solitary and dark, when the two had passed into the 
room and closed the door behind them. The Greek tutor, 
supposing then that it was a custom to secure speedy an- 
swers to calls for services, made no comment upon the mat- 
ter. 

As they seated themselves and gradually warmed in inter- 
course and good feeling, the elder brother made himself 
master of the situation. The room was bare of carpet and 
the furniture plain in the extreme. The tutor was strug- 
gling to economize and free himself from debt. If the relic 
from Salamis was really kept in this room, as was highly 
probable, it could be found nowhere but in the table-drawer, 
or the drawer of a small pine wash-stand. There was no 
trunk or box that could contain clothes or valuables, unless, 
indeed, one might be concealed under the bed. An inquiry 
addressed to Constant elicited the reply that his few articles 
of linen were in the wash-stand drawer. His suit of clothes 
for daily use hung against the wall. The weight, no doubt, 
found a retreat in the drawer of the table. How could he 
naturally and properly look into that drawer ? He drew his 
chair near to the table, and in true American fashion crossed 
his legs upon the top while detailing to Consent a purchase 
he had made of a city assembly-room, which^ he intended to 
Aimish elegantly for private balls. Ho was determined U’ 


WARWICK, 


m 

engross a large share of public notoriety by the magiii£leeno4 
of his entertainments. He had received recently many boxei 
of statuary from abroad for which he had no suitable place 
in the metropolis, and which he desired to exhibit to the 
public before consigning them to the privacy of “ Silvicola.” 
He could not have selected a subject of conversation more 
certain to engross the attention and interest of his brother. 
Constant drew near also to the table, and entered at once 
into the discussion of his plans. The past seemed to be an- 
nihilated. Again was that intercourse established between 
the two which had so many pleasant memories associated 
with it. In the announcement of his plans for alterations 
in the assembly-room, he drew to himself a fragment of 
paper, and saying, If I had a pencil I could explain to you 
better,” he pulled open the table-drawer. The movement 
was not unnatural, and there, indeed, lay a fragment of lead 
pencil ; and, O Bona Fortuna / beside it was the coveted 
brass weight. He pretended to see only the pencil, and, 
taking it out, sketched his plan of the alterations upon the 
fragment of paper. As he warmed with his subject, the 
pencil covered the paper with plans, and the fragment neces- 
sarily proved itself to be too small. “ Can you not give me 
a larger scrap of paper ? Anything will do. What is that 
brown wrapping-paper yonder? ” 

Constant walked away to the wrapping-paper which con- 
tained his foolscap paper for his new book. While his back 
was turned Montrose transferred the brass from the drawer 
to his coat-pocket. He had abundance of time for the theft, 
as the bundle of paper had to be untied and opened. It was 
a rapid transition from savant to thief. The mutilated 
records of the New York Historical Society are a memorial 
that the two characters are not antipodal. Bona Fortuna 
deserted the savant as rapidly as she had come to his as- 
sistance. 

“ By the way, I have slips of paper in my table-drawer 
which are just what you want, Montrose.” 

The tutor rapidly recrossed the room and looked into the 
drawer. Where is my brass weight? That is strange ! ” 
He pulled the drawer entirely out in the search for it. 
“ Gone I my mother’s gift gone I ” 

He looked at his brother in surprise, not suspiciously. 
He was too noble himself to suspect Montros.^. There he 
^tected guilt. The shock of df^’hOvety had fthd 


WAMWtCK, 




den for the schemer. His face crimsoned with guilt. The 
cool hero of many lands flushed in the consciousness of theft. 
A change passed over that face handsome as Clovis. The 
small, delicate lips clinched firmly. He uttered no sound, 
but extended his hand for the mother’s gift. It was terrible 
to see him. He was struggling heroically to curb every 
violent word, every unnecessary and stinging reproach 
Thfl lips were rigid as ice, but the eyes were fire. 

“My mother’s gift, — at once ; then leave this room.” 

The words came forth calmly enough. Their meaning 
was obvious : “ Restore and leave before the bolt falls.” 

Montrose Earle sprang to his feet and drew a revolver. 
On the instant a blow sent the weapon flying through the 
air. The Idsean Hercules was not quicker in the Olj'^mpian 
games than Constant Earle aroused. A blow from the lion 
hunter was aimed at him. He caught it on his guard arm, 
and with the other arm circled the neck of the muscular 
savant and hurled him to the floor. The door flew open and 
an Arab darted to the rescue with a long knife glittering in 
the lamp-light. Constant shook off the grasp of his brother 
and sprang to his feet as the blade was aimed at his jugular. 
His hand received the blow of the knife, but the cowardl}^ 
weapon glanced harmless from Nacoochee’s gift, the amethyst 
ring. There was no time for Christian parley. Christian 
pluck in the defence of right was cornered. A cyclopean 
thrust from his iron arm dashed the astonished nomad 
crashing against the door. He whirled like the lightning and 
dealt a blow between the eyes of the savant advancing to- 
wards him. Ho measured his length upon the floor. 


Th*i wUdi la mean men we entitle patienea 
Is pale, eold eowardlce in noble breasts. 

Kino RicbamIL 

Bevoks the stunned Arab could regain his feet he was 
caught by the neck and hair, dragged to the landing oui- 
eide, and hurled he^Uong down the stairs. It made littk 
wtoe he lodged. He ttoo bruised and uu 


WARmOX, 


m 

conscious, with his knife in his hand. Such weapons wen 
useless in Constant Earless gymnasium. His blood was just 
getting up. He confronted the lion-hunter again. They 
grappled and both came to the floor, the Christian on top. 
He was too furious for words. Action is preferable. Hf 
held that strong man by the throat with one hand, rifling his 
pockets with the other. He shook off the grapple again and 
struggled up to his feet with the recovered brass weight. 
He pointed to the door. 

“ Go and pick up your dead and clear, or Til bank you 
on top of him.’’ 

His brother darted at him again, and received for his pains 
a blow which brought him to his knees. He arose again and 
stood on the defensive, with his guard up, waiting for his 
opportunity to strike. A sharp, decisive round was fought ; 
the savant was down, partially stunned, was caught around 
the neck, dragged to the landing and hurled on top of his 
servant. He deemed it time to retreat. He glanced up for 
an instant at the Greek tutor, standing on the landing calm 
and earnest for any fresh hostilities. The Christian had 
amazed him. He stood there sublimely alone, the £<psdpoq of 
the Grecian Otympia waiting for a new antagonist. None 
came. Montrose Earle sullenly opened the street door and 
summoned the coachman to his assistance. The footman 
was borne away to the carriage, and the tutor closed the 
street door behind them. Was he a Christian? 

He dropped into a chair and surveyed the battle-field. A 
revolver was the only trophy of the fight. That might be- 
come useful in the event of a renewal of hostilities. A man 
who would rob him of his mother’s gih was equal to any- 
thing. A brother who could steal into his privacy with 
words of kindness, only to force him to yield up his honor as 
d custodian of the wishes of the dead, was to be avoided 
and guarded against. How tenacious was that affluent 
brother of his purpose I He had subjected himself to the 
penalty of robbery ; he had made himself amenable to law. 
For what? A fragment of brass with a miniature upon it. 
Why did Montrose so ardently aspire to the ownership of 
that trifle ? There must be some profound secret associated 
with it. It must have intrinsic, wonderfhl value. The 
elder brother was no fool. Constant took up the weight 
again. “ Starange, m;^ic symbol of the past, speak I ” The 
echo of his voice tras the answer. He bent over H In study, 


WAMWICK, 


SOS 

0peoulation, reverie. Again he took from his pocket the 
everlasting magnifying-glass. He narrowly eyed every line, 
every figure, traced in the brass. His theory had been 
formed regarding the Egyptians and Solon. Nacoochee’s 
note had given an additional confirmation to one conjecture. 
Solon found sepulture on the island of Salamis. He and 
the Egyptian priests knew of the Western World ; they knew 
of the lost nationalities, of the earlier lost nationalities of 
America. They knew of the mammoth, the alligator, the 
bison, the great cave of Kentucky. Why, upon this supposi- 
tion, did they retain in brass the memory of that knowledge ? 
Why clothe the items of that knowledge in symbols, known 
only to the initiated ? What was the hidden wisdom at which 
the Greek lawgiver was pointing ? The strange hieroglyphics 
running around the circumference of the brass only could de- 
termine. He must familiarize himself with every known key 
to hieroglyphical writing. That labor might prove to be 
valuable. This wreath of symbolical characters about the 
periphery should be the next object of his study. The hour 
was late. He took up the revolver and placed it with the 
brass weight in his table-drawer. He retired to his bed, after 
the concluding words of his prayer, “ Forgive me, O God, 
for any unnecessary violence done in saving my life.” He 
slept, and dreamed of The Evening Star, while the baffled 
savant plotted revenge. 

On the evening of the following day a lady sat in the 
gray of the gloaming before a parlor-organ. She was 
shadowy in the gathering darkness, — a tall, but indistinct 
outline. At that solemn hour when the dying day bids us 
farewell forever, she was stealing from the organ the 
music which whispers of a better land. For every human 
being will come the last twilight. She thought of it then. 
The aged Christian for whom she was playing thought of it, 
as she sat so silently beside her, in her arm-chair, with ema- 
ciated, clasped hands, and thinking of her Saviour, who was 
so soon to receive her. How dearly both of them loved 
sacred music, the orphan heiress, and the aged mother of 
her friend I It seemed as if the sweet, solemn notes of the 
Anglican chants were never so soothing, so suggestive of 
purity, and truth, and heaven. At length the music died 
away, and all was still. To one a human idol had arisen to 
divert her thoughts, in part, from God. For the other was 
a struggle coming on. Shd must leave one idol behind 


810 


WARWICK. 


a pure, lovely daughter. She must leave her without 4 
mother’s guardian care. Her heart ached at the thought. 

“Come here, May,” she said, after a moment's silence. 
The voice was weak, but low and silvery still. The young 
lady drew near, and sat beside her, holding her thin, dying 
hand. She was rapidly failing. Any day might witness the 
spirit’s flight beyond the stars. 

“ I am so anxious about my child. I must leave her. 
God wills it. May his holy will be done. I have great 
faith in you, dear May, in your religious convictions, and in 
your strength of character. Oh, promise the dying mother 
that you will befriend her child. She will listen to your 
counsels. She is too susceptible to new and strange im- 
pulses and influences. Oh, guard her for my sake ! If she 
ever fancies any man who believes not in God, tell her of my 
dying words to you. The chances are that he will influence 
her to disbelief, to neglect of duty, to sin. You, dear May, 
would influence your husband towards the church, towards 
a religious life. I am confident of that. You lead, but she 
is led. Will you counsel her, for my sake, to set her heart 
only upon a man who loves God ? ” 

“ Always, my dear friend, always.” 

“ And will you, when I am gone, take more interest in 
her welfare because she has no longer a mother ? ” 

“ Indeed, I will, Mrs. Deming. I do not know to what 
destiny in life God will call me. But, whatever it may be, 
she shall have the prayers and the counsels of a sister. Do 
not fear.” 

“ It is well. May. The dying mother trusts you. Now 
tell me what you think about Mr. Earle. Is he worthy of 
my daughter’s love ? I can see clearly that she is fascinated 
by him. I am myself charmed by his apparent depth of 
feeling, human and spiritual. I do not care that he is poor 
and struggling. My child will have a competence, and a 
man is better who has to -fight his own life-battle, if he is 
actuated by religious principle.” 

There was a silence before the response came. Finally 
she said, “I admire Mr. Earle as much as you. His 
character is in his features. Such men may fall under temp- 
tation. They rise more easily than others. But I speak to 
you in confidence, w'hea I say that Mr. Constant Earle has, 
as yet, manifested no extraordinary interest in Carrie. Hia 
ooi^aot has been exactly that of any gentleman who had ro' 


WAJtWTCK. 


m 


drived kind offices and was grateM. ; There is something in 
his manner which suggests to me that his heart is wandering 
in ways that we are ignorant of. It is difficult to define our 
convictions, and the reasons for them, sometimes. When 
Mr. Earle loves a woman, there will be such intensity and 
absorption in his conduct that it will be manifest to others. 
I am confident that in the same room with him and hia 
heart’s mistress I could point her out. She was not present 
at Carrie’s soiree. The woman may not exist who can 
charm him. But she was not here at the musical part}’’. Do 
you believe I have that power of penetration?” 

“ You may have. May. I am concerned about your sur- 
mise. Would you be willing to speak to Carrie as you have 
to me ? ” 

“ No ; I would not. It is not human nature to be pleased 
with such announcements from friends. A woman’s own 
Instinct must teach her when to be reserved. A woman in 
love has hope like every one else. The terrible awmkening 
to her error must come properly from her own nature.” 

“ You are right. May. It w'ould never answer for any one 
to speak to her on this subject but her mother. There she 
comes now ; that is her ring. Please pull that bell for 
lights, and then assist me into my room.” 

In a few minutes the two young ladies were alone together 
under the blaze of the chandelier. Miss Delano was revealed 
in a dove-colored poplin with scarlet trimmings. Her friend 
came in blooming fVom the fresh air of the street, and ex- 
claimed : — 

“ I have another surprise for you. The colonel called me 
in to see your godchild and another present for her from 
that mysterious source. He told me to bring it here that 
you might see it, and here it is. It is beautiful. It cam© 
as mysteriously for Violet as the embroidery, and the colonel 
is very nervous about the matter. He fears that his daugh- 
ter may be claimed some day out of his hands.” 

She opened the paper and shook out a small afghan, in- 
tended for a child’s carriage. .Several presents had been 
mysteriously left for little Violet, each one evidencing the 
skill and taste of some unknown mistress of the needle. 
The last gift was not behind its predecessors in beauty. In 
the corner of the present was a card, on which was written 
delicately in pencil, “For Violet, a sea-roam afghan. * Miss 
Delano eTamined minutely the gift of the unknown. It w«f 


WARWIGk, 


knit ill alternate stripes of sea-green ani white. tJpoh thi 
white stripes were worked branches of red coral. The fringe 
was white and red coral, and at the end of every stripe of 
sea-green was a tassel of white and green, tipped with 
large, glistening beads of white glass, to symbolize the sea- 
foam. Upon the central stripe of green was worked in 
white glass beads the name “ Violet/^ 

“ It is beautiful indeed, Carrie. What is your idea of the 
source from which it came ? ” 

“No doubt from the same hand that embroidered the 
white merino quilt. Everything indicates the taste and 
touch of a lady’s hand. Poor creature I I suspect she is 
the mother. Who can she be ? It is evident she does not 
intend to give up every connection with her child.” 

“ Did I tell you, Carrie, about the nurse meeting a veiled 
lady in the park several times, who spoke to Violet?” 

“ No, indeed I What was she like ? ” 

“ The nurse thought her some fine lady ; she walked 
elegantly, and her hand was very small. She was com- 
pletely veiled, and would not raise it when she was talking. 
She appeared to take great interest in Violet, and made 
many inquiries about her and the colonel.” 

“It may have been the mother. Poor creature I We never 
know what is transpiring in this great city. But, May, did 
she talk well ? ” 

“ I am sure I can’t tell. The nurse says so. Tou can 
estimate her standard of fine conversation as well as I can.” 

“ Well, it’s a beautiful piece of work, whoever did it. 
Come to tea ; there’s the bell.” 

Later in the evening the two friends sat together in the 
drawing-room alone. They were industriously engaged with 
their needles and tongues. They had discussed some score 
?>f acquaintances, some twoscore dress-patterns, and half « 
score of churchmen high and low, and had finally settled 
down to the great topic. Constant Earle, when they were 
startled by the street-bell. A call ; some ttray balls of 
worsted were called in from their wanderings, some scattered 
spools and needles were placed upon dress parade, and two 
djsesses received a few adjusting flings. By the time a 
couple of glances into the long mirror had satisfied them 
that their hair was properly arranged, the caller was ushered 
in. It was Constant Earle. Two ladies looked smiling and 
ftjiconeerned, and experienced a thrill at heart Mias Demr 


WAMmCX. 


m 

iag shared her secret with her friend. Miss Delano shared 
her private wound with no one. 

The hours sped rapidly. Serious conversation, music 
song, light laughter enlightened the evening, and Constant 
Earle arose higher and higher every hour in the estimation 
of his new friends. Notwithstanding his effoils to make 
himself generally agreeable, his eye wandered more frequent- 
ly to the lithe princess-form of the orphan than to the fuller 
development of her purely blonde friend. There was a mys- 
terious witchery in that dove-colored poplin, exhibiting the 
outlines of a Psyche form, and in that rich chestnut hair 
shimmering in the gas-light. There was a spell in those 
large, lustrous gray eyes, raising at intervals from their ab- 
sorption in the mysteries of silk and worsted to sparkle at 
the merriment of a jest, or light with interest at an utterance 
winged with the ideal. Something in them spoke to the 
observer of a hidden nature, a recess far away from the fri- 
volity of the hour, where noble and enduring qualities were 
lurking, where an arsenal of militant material was concealed 
for that hour when wealth might take to itself wings and 
friends withdraw themselves. The guest discovered that 
she allowed Miss Deming the lead in conversation, only 
coming up as the reserve force when the intellectual battle 
faltered. She dared not trust her eyes to study him, and 
when once or twice he caught that mysterious flash, he felt a 
thrill of magnetic Are course his veins. For an instant he 
ceased to remember The Evening Star. 

In the course of a desultory conversation the afghan was 
mentioned. Then the mysterious flnding of the infant and 
its subsequent history was detailed to him. He was informed 
of the whole affair, excepting only the mur(Ser-cry. The 
afghan was produced, as he exi)ressed himself an admirer of 
female handicraft. The instant he saw it he grasped it, held 
it up to the light, read the writing in pencil, and turned 
deathly pale. Re recovered himself. But Miss Delano 
marked the distress which crossed his features. He knew of 
it then. He was linked with the mystery. Her friend had 
been inspecting the symbol of sea-foam on the tassels. She 
had not observed the quick dart of agony. It was well. 
Miss Delano quickly put him at his ease again. He had ex- 
perienced sudden agony. For that emotion his eyes wei*e 
heralds. She r^idly and easily turned the conversation to 
general embroidery. But a dampOT- had fallen upon the 


di4 


WARWtatt. 


Its of the author. He soon bowed himself out. The 85^10' 
pathizing eyes of the heiress followed him like ministering 
ipirits. He was gone. And yet amid his distress he car- 
ried away abiding memories of the woman in dove-colored 
poplin. She had noticed his change of coimtenance, and 
relieved him by her address. And he knew it. “ What a 
quick, magnetic nature ! ” he whispered to himself, “ and so 
considerate 1 ” He walked on like one mad. He left the 
grand avenue of fashion, crossed to a street-car and leaped 
upon the platform. The car seemed to move at a snaihs 
pace. He was tortured by suspicion of evil; his blood 
coursed his veins like fire. Everything moved too slow for 
him. His heart had floYm beyond blocks, and streets, and 
avenues, and still that tedious tinkling car-bell lingered be- 
hind. When would the passengers cease to enter and leave, 
detaining his agonized spirit in suspense? Hasten, hasten, 
hasten ! A noble heart is in agony, and still you loiter. On, 
past the crossing streets, the lamps, the markets, and the 
shops, the car rolled along, and minutes seemed to contain 
the exhausting agony of hours. At length, ah I at length, 
suspense was approaching that goal where reality must open. 
He sprang from the car in full career, and ran up a side 
street. He flew along the pavements, turned into another 
street, hastened up a short flight of steps, and rang the bell 
nervously. The door was opened by a woman, lovely as a 
star. It was his sister, Louisa Earle. She clung to his 
neck. He held her back till the lamp from the street illu- 
mined her fair face. She wondered at his firm grip upon her 
shoulder. 

“ Why, brother, what is the matter? You are stem and 
white ; speak to me.” 

He could not for an instant. He was cold and trembling. 
Then the words burst from him : — 

“ Tell me, in the presence of God and his pure angels, 
Are you married f Tell me. You shall speak now, — on the 
instant, or I put that door between us forever. Speak I ” 
She gazed upon him in his agon}^ A struggle convulsed 
her. She knew his meaning. 

“ Yes, dear brother, I am married!* 

“ Thank God ! O adorable God, I thank thee I I thank 
Uiee, and bless thy holy name.” 

He strained her to hla heart, pressed warm kisses on her 
(brehead, murmuring, “ Dnar, dear sister, yon have lifted « 


WAnWIOK* 


m 


maintain of agony from me, my poor, sweet, precious sis 
ter I” 

“ Come in. Constant, you are pale and trembling. I have 
broken a solemn promise for your sake. May God forgive 
me I But you are my only friend. Come in and speak to 
me.” 

“Where is he?” was the abrupt question as he seated 
himself. “ My poor, beautiful sister I For an instant I 
wronged you. Where is your husband? Why don’t he 
come to you ? Why did you leave your child to the care of 
strangers ? It has all come to me to-night. Listen to me. 
You left, or some one left, your child on the steps of the Rev. 
Thomas Delano’s residence. You knew it. You have sent 
that child from time to time, gifts^ presents. The last was an 
afghan, a sea-foam afghan. I recognized the coral branches 
you were working. I knew the handwriting you put upon 
the card. I hastened away to you like lightning. Now tell 
me all. Who is he ? Where is he ? What is his name ? Tell 
me. I will aid you, stand by you. Speak to me.’^ 

“ Constant, my husband is an EngUsh gentleman, noble, 
pure, generous, a member of our church. In a moment of 
ardent persuasion I married him secretly. The proof is in 
my room. You shall see it. He is of noble family, but an 
outcast, or rather at enmity with his kindred. He took my 
child away, telling me where he would leave it, that no 
knowledge of our marriage might transpire until his return. 
He would conciliate his family, and then return to me. He 
left that night with my child. He fulfilled his word about 
leaving her in safe hands where I could track her. He per- 
suaded me it was for the best. He was to sail for England 
in the morning. Something has happened to him. My heart 
bleeds by day and by night for him. I love him better than 
life. O my brother, I would have told you long ago, but 
for my promise to him whom I adore. Forgive me and 
bless me, brother, once again.” 

He pressed her tenderly in his arms. “ Dear image of 
my mother, I love you better than life. What is the nams 
of your husband ? ** 

^^jkobert MelviU$-'^ ^ 


WAMWim. 


M 


Cfjapter XXXV. 

*' An eagle towering in his pride of place 
Was by a mousing owl hawked at uid kiUed." 


The Delano carriage, glistening in the sunlight, was before 
the door. The coachman in his gray livery sat erect and 
dignified. Mike in his grandeur-dress was an autocrat. Not 
more rigid was the tall carriage whip beside him than his 
motionless figure. Brimful of drollery in the stable, he was 
a stern disciplinarian on duty. He had many temptations 
to unbend since “ Shorty ’’ had been promoted to a seat 
beside him. The cripple had exultantly donned the silver 
and gray livery after a proper probation, and when he had 
demonstrated his ability to mount the box unaided. He was 
a footman with one foot. The dark eyes of the boy watched 
every movement on the avenue v/ith the persistency that had 
characterized him as a solicitor of alms. Since his promo- 
tion to a Sunday school and a carriage-box it had become 
necessary to curtail his expenditure of recognitions of the 
beggar fraternity. But from the corner of his eye an ex- 

E ressive wink informed his former comrades of the pav6 thj t 
e was not proud, though exalted. But his sly comments 
on the avenue pedestrians found vent at favorable moments. 
Mike’s eye twinkled at the boy’s remarks, but it was ever 
under protest of his sense of propriety. Under the influence - 
of the warm sunlight and the gay scene upon the avenue, 
the cripple found it difficult to retain the proper amount of 
serenit}^ and silence. 

“ Mike, Mike, j^ou’re good ion this momin’. That’s what 
Miss Delano calls Lippincott’s coachman. She says he’'s 
one of yer non-emotionals.” 

“ Hould yer whist on duty, ye rascal I ” was the response, 
as a smile curled the coachman’s lips. 

“ She did say it, and she laughed too. She’s sound, she 

b.” 

At this instant a young gentleman fresh from a tailoring 
bandbox strutted by. Every article of dress was new and 
orthodox in cut. His coat was black, but his nether limbs 
were forced into pants of questionable fashion. They were 


Wamwicm:, 


m 

out in the requisite eel-skin tightness, for the. suffocation of 
calf, but were of unusual color. 

“ Them purple pants is what Miss Delano calls snper-goi> 
geous,” exclaimed the cripple. “Mike, that feller’s a rit* 
yelist in his legs. I seen that color up ter Saint Alban’s.” 

“ May the divil admire me if yer aint right this time. 
Houly Moses, what chicken ligs that chap travels on I Shure 
that’s the pinetintial color in me own church for Lent. Poor 
divil, his ligs are a-fasting theirselves to death. He’s got 
Good Friday on his back, and Advint on his ligs.” 

“ Look at his stove-pipe, Mike. It’s big enough for his 
great-grandfather. Aint them yaller kids stunners ? purple 
pants and yaller kids. He can’t lead the German. No, sir. 
Aint them pants tight fitters? I’d like to see Warwick 
jounce them legs for a couple of miles. Wouldn’t you?” 

“ Faith, and ye’ll see them fellers a-ridin* a-horseback any 
day on the avinue, their ligs stickin’ straight out, and a 
white-beaded walkin’-stick across the saddle. Did ye niver 
take notice to ’em a-walkin’ their horses slow, to save the 
seams of their pants from bustin? I seed one of ’em, whin 
his horse shied at a pile o’ bricks and started to run. Bad 
luck to the fool, he tumbled off and turned up on his back, 
and then shouted out ‘ Murther 1 ’ The palace wer close by, 
whin they heerd the man cry in’, and shure they rooshed to 
the place whare they thought the man dyin’. Divil a die was 
there. Miss Delano, she rode up on Warwick, and took a fit 
o* laughin’, — for shure didn’t she see the fool let go of his 
reins whin there was no occasion ? Be still now, the mistress 
am a-comin.” 

He assumed the professional silence and solemnity, as the 
aoor of the mansion opened, and Miss Delano and her friend 
sallied forth like two harbingers of spring. The heiress 
was habited in a light-green silk, with' mantle of the same. 
Her fair face was revealed beneath a white silk bonnet 
trimmed with apple-blossoms and bright-green leaves. The 
delicate green shade of her gloves harmonized with her dress, 
and the parasol which she spread to the warm sunbeams was 
a marvel of white lace. Her friend was radiant in a dress 
of lilac silk. Over her shoulders was gracefully adjusted a 
white grenadine shawl. Her lilac silk bonnet, adorned with 
white lilac clusters, matched the color of her gloves, and 
she shaded her blonde face with a white silk parasol. Pure 
and sweet as the breath of June, they floated away to the 
87 * 


Sid 

carriage. The door of the vehicle closed with a snap, and 
the raven-oolored steeds sped away with them. The two 
Mends were out for that tedious duty which is known as re 
turning formal calls. But Miss Delano had a secret mission, 
which was to precede the great toil of the day, and which 
she informed her friend would demand her attention at her 
banker’s office for a few moments. Along the avenue they 
hurried, turned at length into Broadway, and paused finally 
before the steps of a marble bank. Miss Delano entered 
alone, passed along the hall, turned from the banking-room 
on the left, into the president’s room, which was vacant, and 
sent a messenger after that official. He soon appeared. A 
smiling sexagenarian, an aflable old gentleman, and an inti- 
mate friend of her deceased father. 

“ Good-morning, my sweet child ; you are the first spring 
bird that has fiuttered into my sanctum. How are you, and 
what can I do for you to-day ? Here^ sit here. That is the 
chair of state.” 

Her mission was soon revealed. She desired him, under 
his own hand and seal, to enclose the sum of two thousand 
dollars for her, to a poor author who had been very unfortu- 
nate, and was struggling, after a new and sudden fall, with 
the heroism of a martyr to regain his lost ground. The 
commission had been too familiar with the old banker to 
excite much comment, and he took down the donee’s name 
and address. The author was to receive the money in bank- 
notes, and have no clue given him by the banker’s messenger 
of his benefactress. She then received a statement of her 
accounts from her banker, and bade him good-morning. She 
regained her carriage and rolled away towards the fashion- 
able portion of the city. 

The day which had opened so auspiciously in sunshine 
and warmth closed in a gloomy, misty drizzle of rain. The 
omnibuses destined for the “up-town ” districts of the city 
were crowded to inconvenience by business men hastening 
homeward. The crowds of the great financial marts were 
thinning rapidly. Sounds were being hushed which all day 
had distracted the air. “ Down-town ” was rapidly growing 
dark and gloomy. The windows of the offices and business 
dens were darkening in the touch of the misty rain. Many 
offices were already deserted and closed for tlie day. Sullen 
gas-lights were burning in dark retreats ; principals had left ; 
their clerks and porters were closing up the unfinished rem 


WARWICK, 


819 


0ant8 of the day^s business. A gloomy night threatened te 
hold sway, and there was no cheery sound at the closing of 
work. The noises at length were nearly all hushed ; the pail 
of the night fell darker, and the patter of the increasing 
rain grew more distinct and mournful upon the tin and iron 
roofs of the business houses ; it rattled, gurgled down the tin 
escape-pipes, and spattered from swinging shutters against 
the window-glass, leaving there its tear-drops, motionless or 
streaming down the panes in darkening streaks. It was an 
hour for sadness and gloomy retrospect. 

In a room attainable only by three flights of tedious 
stairs was a lawyer’s office. The walls were covered with 
volumes of legal lore. Deserted tables were scattered about. 
One only was occupied. A clerk was writing still, but the 
attorneys had left for the night. When the darkness had 
rendered any further deciphering of the legal papers impos- 
sible, the solitary clerk laid aside his pen and looked through 
the dim panes at the iron shutters of a window in the ad- 
jacent building. It was a contracted view, a range for the 
eye of some dozen feet. That blank, white, painted wall of 
brick was relieved only by the black outlines of the iron 
shutters, closed and gloomy. 

A reverie stole over the motionless scribe. When would 
the struggle of life be over? When would the sensitive 
heart — elevated by hope, dashed down to horror by the sud- 
den despair, wandering under rose-wreaths, lost under hor- 
rid shades, aspiring, moaning, exulting, weeping, praying, 
murmuring, growing older, sterner, harder — be forever at 
rest? Why struggle? For what? A name? The splendor 
of empires covered with drifting sand was the mocking vision 
that answered. What was worth a heart’s struggle ? Any 
ambition of power or wealth? Any good of the earth’s 
gift? He shook his head mournfully. The thousands strug- 
gle for what the one gains. When the indomitable had won, 
what had he in his grasp ? Old age, exhausted vital powers, 
a broken constitution, the near prospect of death. All is 
unsatisfactory, all fading, all dying away. No adequate 
reward comes after mental toil. Labor dulls the agony of 
thought. It is an opiate ; no more. Men aspire as others 
aspired before them, and like them weary and overtax the 
brain, grow prematurely old and die. Soon they are for- 
gotten. Their books survive, but by and by tliey, too, be* 
come obsolete j they are laid aside. Men crave the novelty 


8>20 


frjjtfncx. 


of the hour. They will have something new. Thus effort ii 
forgotten. A few win the immortal name. Only a few. 
But the firmest works of man gradually give way and fall 
into oblivion ; the ivy nods from the mouldering wall ; the 
shattered tower crumbles finally to ruin ; the grass grows 
where the sandaled foot of the ancient prince trod his marble 
halls. The nearer view, the more recent memory teaches 
the certainty of oblivion’s tread upon the ashes of human 
effort. In the homes of our grandfathers, those iron men 
w’^ho cultivated the brain and sought to perpetuate the beau- 
tiful, the serpent glides and the wild flower springs from the 
crevices of the hearthstone. Those pioneers who built so 
strongly their foundations, and employed far heavier material 
than ours, are buried, forgotten by the masses, remembered 
only by the tottering who shall themselves crumble and be 
forgotten ere long. They burned the midnight oil, cultivated 
the steady habit of toil, followed the wise maxim, and re- 
peated the ancient saw. Where are their books? T^o reads 
them now? We wander amid relics gathered from the past 
of our own dead. A feeling of terrible insecurity comes 
upon us. What will chance to be the few relics preserved of 
us? Will they be the accidental papers contributed to the 
literary magazine, our feeblest effort? May not our grand 
work, upon which we toiled so patiently in pain, be covered 
up and forgotten ? Appreciation of literaiy effort is a fickle 
friend upon which to rely. The fool has gained a long mem- 
ory. Many wise men are buried und-er Lethe’s waters. 
Oh, is there no sure pledge of reward for human effort? Is 
nothing worth contending for? Is nothing durable? 

How agonizing the thoughts of that solitary wretch as he 
paused in his toil to breathe 1 Everything had failed him. 
Everything had gone hard, very hard, with him. He was so 
lonely, deserted, fallen again so far. He had struggled 
sternly, piled the tedious brick upon brick, until after nearly 
two years of toil and privation he had raised a tower from 
the valley of obscurity, from whose summit he might gaze 
upon the distant sun, and hope once more. The giant fate 
hurled down the tower, but left him the empty bubble, a 
name. That bauble was a foundation-stone, a corner-stone 
saved. Upon that he would tediously build again, erect an- 
other tower to mount to the far-off Olympus. In the midst 
of depression and search for labor to earn his bread, grati- 
tude h^d come to him and blessed him with a gift, — the posi 


WAHWICX, 


831 


tton of the Greek tutor. He could earn his bread, and work 
for fame and competence. Alas ! that heroic battle against 
his brother and his hired assassin, to save his mother's gift, 
had forfeited him the place for rest, for study. That re- 
vengeful will, that knew no obstacle to a stern purpose, had 
brought to bear the terrible engine of the moderns, wealth. 
What will not capital accomplish? Deliberately, craftily, 
he approached the retreat of his victim. The younger 
brother must vacate the tutorship. He employed a lawyer, 
clear-headed, cool, unscrupulous, untiring, to aid him. 
Through him he sounded every man, every trustee, every in- 
fluence, that had power to make and unmake offices in the 
university. Some had friends who could influence them, 
whose suggesting word was law. Others were embarrassed 
for funds. They were- tempted by bribes of money to vote 
for retrenchment in the expenditures and salaried offices of 
the university. Who would suspect that so wise a matter 
as retrenchment in critical times was the result of corrup- 
tion ? Montrose Earle distributed money with a liberal and 
judicious hand. Retrenchment was suggested, debated, car- 
ried, at length, and the Greek tutorship abolished. The labors 
of the aged Greek professor were increased. The tutor was 
advised of the change. In distress he appealed to Mr. Dem- 
ing to save him. Alas 1 that noble friend had but a single 
vote. He promised to look again throughout the city for an- 
other place. How dreary and tedious is a search for salaried 
places in the metropolis I While the weary weeks went oi 
and no success was gained, the student, sick at heart, found 
himself once more at the door of the legal firm. They had 
no work, no copying for him now. They kindly remembered 
his former faithful service as a copyist, and recommended 
him to attorneys in the upper story of their building. There 
he gained at length permission to sleep upon their floor at 
night and work for them by day. He might sweep their 
office, make their fires, and copy papers for them. They 
would pay him enough to buy him bread. He could, by in- 
cessant writing, save a few dollars every month for the fu- 
ture. For this feeble hope he blessed the name of God and 
struggled on. He was iron in his purpose, but midnight 
toil and anxiety had settled a worrying pain at the junction 
of the brain and spinal cord. One day a bitter mortification 
came to him. His personal dignity was outraged ; his sense 
of honor shocked. The same moneyed power which stealthilj 


m 


WAMmOK, 


andermined him at the university worked secretly upon th« 
city press. From time to time stinging articles were issued, 
charging that a worthless son of the deceased merchant 
prince, Earle, was seeking to steal from an honest, struggling, 
industrious printer, the honor of Polymnia. He felt the 
keenest stings of grief at this cruel charge, but manfully re- 
mained silent. Why refute that which he would not prose- 
cute before the courts ? Who would believe that an author had 
a right to that book which was selling by tens of thousands, 
when he forbore to claim that right in the courts ? Silence, 
submission, obscurity, toil : these were the watchwords of 
the Spartan, the Christian, the man. There may be a pro- 
founder maxim than that which urges every legal claim before 
the courts. A man from the depths of toil and pain may 
wrench a thunderbolt which shall shiver all rival claims and 
place him above suspicion or reproach. The claim to Polym- 
nia he had laid at the feet of the Great Judge. He could 
still labor and wait. He would never prosecute the man 
whom he had forgiven. 

But his strength was failing him. The incessant day and 
night labor upon his nervous organization had left fatal 
marks. He was overtaxed again. Pain, incessant pain, cen- 
tred in his brain. A fine, poetic organization may be capa- 
ble of long and unremitting toil. But worry, anxiety, the 
apprehension of poverty, will effect more in undermining the 
health of such a man than years of mental labor. One hour 
of refiection upon the hardships and hopelessness of author- 
ship will send that acute pain to the crown of the head, when 
a month of uniform mental labor will produce no such result. 
A writer gifted with imagination finds that gift entering 
into the detail of Iris daily fife. It is as vivid and suggestive 
for him personally, as when it works upon the personages 
and scenes of his book. Conscious at length of the danger- 
ous reaction upon himself of his imagination he struggles 
to employ it all upon his books. He shuns long reveries as 
deadly foes. He must not, will not, think outside of his 
manuscript. He clings to the pen and the paper day and 
night. He will not rest from fear that he shall worry about 
his future, his success, his bread. Thus he overworks him- 
self and the inevitable disorder of the brain comes on. 

To this unfortunate result Constant Earle Avas ronscious 
that he was again approaching. He dared not toil so hard. 
He dared not pause to think. The ivvoris which came upon 


^TAMiTWS. 




Slim in the iasvyer's office was not premeditated. It wag as 
accidental release of the bird, thought. Darkness covered his 
paper. He could no longer write. He looked out through 
the rain-covered window, and forgot his resolution. He 
thought. The first mental question that suggested itself 
was, when will this life-struggle be over? Buried in the 
gathering gloom he pondered the matter long. The object© 
about the office gradually grew indistinct, and the drizzle 
of the rain outside grew louder. Finally he could see noth- 
ing but the faint whiteness of the wall through the window, 
framing the gloomy and closed shutters of iron. He seemed 
to ait alone in the deserted portion of a great city. Who 
cared for him? Who was interested in his fate? Should he 
fall from his chair at that moment lifeless, who would mourn 
when his body was found prostrate on the morrow? His 
sister. Yes I she never had deserted him. She would weep 
over his untimely end. In the midst of all her own myste- 
rious agony, she would kiss the pale, cold lips of the dead 
brother and follow him to the grave. And would Nacoochee 
mourn that he was dead ? She had not answered the adver- 
tisement. Poor girl! why judge her harshly? She had 
never seen It. How could she, absorbed in her duties, and 
toiling for her bread? He had expended every cent he 
could in advertising for her. She could not have seen any 
of his notices. He knew it. “ She esteems me. She would 
not neglect to answer.” Tiie thought that she was lost, lost in 
that great city, maddened him. He laid his head upon the 
table and longed for her society. She could comfort him 
when he was so desolate and dark, so weary, and faint, and 
sick. Oh for one hour of her society ! She was a friend 
worth possessing. Why had he not tarried one moment 
longer in his school-room on that fatal night ? She had ex- 
pected he would wait for her. She had been disappointed 
at the coolness of fiis going away without bidding her fare- 
well. Hence she had testified her own regard and gratitude 
by sending the ring. But she yronXC not court that society 
which he evidently wished no longer to give her. Why had 
she been so basty in her conclusion? Why did she not wait 
and see him again ? Poor and aninfluential as ‘ihe was, he 
knew that he had lost a valuable friend, — a friend who had 
counselled him firmly, wisely, earnestly ; a friend who would 
have given her address, had she deemed it of any interest to 
him. Such a girl would be an invaluable friend to a strug^ 




m 

glLng * Mend fkithftil d Voutranoe, He drew tte ring 
from the pocket of his coat. He had thrust it away there 
out of sight. How absurd would that valuable amethyst 
look upon the hand of a man sweeping out offices, making 
fires, carrying buckets of water, and scribbling all day long 
for his bread I The sense of propriety never deserted him* 
It was a part of himself. He could wear that ring no longer. 
But it was very precious to him. He could not detect its 
sciniillant light in the gloom of the office, but he raised the 
stone to his lips, in silent adoration. He knew that he 
loved The Evening Star that was lost. How grand it is 
to love, idealizing a human soul clothed in the garb of the 
perishable I The heart becomes sublime through passion. 
It feels itself capable of gaining an}^ summit, exhibiting any 
heroic sacrifice, for the sake of the idol. As he sat there in 
the darkness dreaming of her, he proposed to his soul new 
efforts that might some day elevate her. Was she not 
worthy a high position in life ? Could she not grace by her 
intellect any circle of refinement? A thrill passed through 
him. Would it not be a noble life, toiling and soaring that 
a pure heart and a gifted intellect might be given the means 
to gain for herself the highest literary position a woman 
oould occupy in America? 

His reverie was abruptly broken by a knock upon the 
efilce door. 


Thu power Md hope wero starengthosed more ead mere 
Wlthim me, till there same apon my miad 
A MOM «f loaeliaem, e thirst with which I piaed. 

Ssauar. 

Thb messenger Informed him a stranger had sent the 
package and there was no answer required. He bowed hixn- 
•elf away in the darkness. Quickly the lamp-light Illumined 
the office. Earle drew a chair to the table and broke open 
the larp envelope. A note was uppermost. In a fine bust- 
Wisa Ghin>graphy; the same hand harl irritUa ** CenMaai 


irjLMmaar, 


m 


Esq.,* ou the enyelope. Wh*t a startlmg misolT^ ! 
Could some one be mocking at his misery? Ho opened the 
bulky roll of paper In the envelope. Amazement 1 There 
was a huge mass of new, crisp bank-notes. He counted 
them. Ttoo thousand dollars of genuine United States vtumeg, 
“ Mine I a gift from an unknown friend I I am a prince. This 
is a royal treasury. Til pay my landlord, advertise high 
and low for Naooochee, and then, then Til apply every day, 
every hour, to my new book until it is finished. Victory I I 
am saved. O God, I thank thee I It is from thy hand.'"' 
Ho walked op and down the office in ecstasy and excitement. 
He doubteii not the timely gift had come from some mercan- 
tile house who remembered his father’s kindness to them, and 
had learned of his struggling condition. He was so over- 
whelmed Yirith joy that he paced franticidly up and down as 
If he had suddenly been presented with a great estate. As 
he grew calmer he sat down and penned advertisements 
for all the leading newspapers of the city. Now he would 
find The Evening Star. She must read some paper. He 
remembered that she was ever repeating to him news from 
the press. He recollected one or two of her favorite 
authorities, and addressed advertisements to them, and all 
the other leading papers. The secret title, Nacoochee,” 
would meet her eye somewhere in the great metropolis. 
How eagerly he longed to put eyes upon his Spanish scholar 
once more I When the articles for the press were finished 
and directed, he resolved to indulge himself in relaxation 
for the night. He was too excited to write. One hour of 
change of scene would quaUfy* him for more intense applica- 
tion to his book on the ensuing evening. Where should he 
go? He speedily addressed another note to his sister, en- 
closing her two hundred dollars of the money. He would 
leave it at the General Post Ofllce, on his way. It might be of 
infinite use to her in tracking out information of her lost 
husband. He had written letters to every probable source 
of knowledge, for her, in this behalf. Then after a brief re- 
flection he resolved to call upon Miss Delano. She had 
Invited him to call weeks ago. She was brilliant, friendly, 
and beautitul. He could pass an evening no more agreeably 
elsewhere, lie had called recently on the Demings. Now 
he would seek the societ y of the elegant belle of the 
How singular that he sho^d hasten directly to the residenci 
^ the secret friend who had lightened his heart I 


m 


WAMmCM* 


CareftiUj' donning the new suit which had been hU only 
extravagance during his brief occupation of the Greek tu* 
torship, he placed the bank-notes in the breast-pocket of 
his coat, and locking the office door behind him went forth 
with his treasury into the storm. He had not realized the 
discomforts of the streets, as he listened to the pattering of 
the rain in his little office, but now at the foot of the three 
flights of steps he discovered that a heavy storm had set in 
foi the night. He caught an omnibus just passing, and for- 
tunately secured a seat. The last up-towuers were home- 
ward bound. The rain beat violently against the windows 
of the stage, but found no entrance, and his heart was full of 
joy. He had a pleasant word for the clerk beside him, and 
was as merry as if the trials and struggles of the past two 
years were but dreams. He realized that Miss Delano 
would appreciate his calling in such a storm, and that there 
was no doubt of finding her “ at home ” upon such a dismal 
evening. Other thoughts possessed him as he rolled along. 
He was about to enter an elegant mansion, into whose halls 
he had never penetrated. The Delanos had never been of 
the circle of society in which his happier days had been 
spent. He had known nothing of them in the great city, 
where elegant circles may adjoin each other and never 
chance to mingle. Another thought came in this con- 
nection. The mansion towards which he was moving ad- 
joined an old family residence of his ancestors, all claim to 
which had passed from him by the mysterious will of his 
father. The brother who had sought to rob him was divided 
by a single wall from the beautiful girl upon whom he was 
about to call. Of all the valuable properties in the great 
city which had belonged to his father the younger son had 
received not one. He was an outcast from everything save 
only the family name. That name linked him with the suf- 
fering sister on earth, and the angel-mother in heaven. A 
strange emotion came over him as he remembered the face 
of his father. How kindly and generously had the deceased 
father responded to, every pecuniary solicitation of the 
younger son I How gently had he admonished him that, no 
matter how great and reasonable his expectations might be, 
he should early in life accustom himself to habits of busi- 
ness and industry ; should possess within himself the means 
of independence in every emergency I He dreamed not then 
that the kind old man meditated disinheriting him and 


WAnwwx, 


throwing him entirely upon his own resources. Hi ^ sister^ 
too, was neglected. Why this sudden revulsion of parental 
tenderness? How had the two forfeited the affection of the 
deceased Earle? The ever-recurring enigma received no 
satisfactory solution. Nothing was left the brother and 
Bister but the stem battle of life. He felt equal to it in this 
hour of kindness, in the warmth and enthusiasm aroused 
the liberality of the secret gift. Ho would, by the facil- 
ities for study and essential rest afforded by the timely pres- 
ent of the unknown donor, force his own way to respect and 
competence. He would secure a crown which no Earle had 
yet attained, — a crown of literary laurel. 

As the dreamer, with happy heart and renewed resolution, 
approached the dwelling of Miss Delano, that fair girl was 
sitting in the drawing-room alone, busily plying her long 
needles and listening to the patter of the rain-drops upon 
the window-glass. She anticipated no filendly call upon so 
inauspicious a night. She was expecting any strange occur- 
rence sooner than the appearance of that proud, beautiful 
form which had realized her ideal. He had charmed and 
fascinated her by his pen and voice ; but she knew too well 
from her friend how suddenly his hopes had been wTecked, 
how sternly he had put his foot once more upon the lowest 
round of the ladder of life. She did not look for him. Miss 
Doming had informed her that he rarely called, and was no 
doubt vigorously devoting himself to the seclusion requisite 
to the production of another volume for the press. But she 
sat there alone, speculating upon the surprise which already 
he must have experienced by the reception of the secret 
douceur. A satisfaction which only a noble heart can ex- 
perience possessed her when she imagined the relief, the 
joyous surprise, the exultation which must have thrilled him, 
long ere that hour of her reverie, when he opened the com- 
munication of her banker. “ He will have one happy night 
at least. He will sleep sweetly and carelessly once more. 
Poor, noble, struggling, sensitive heart ! ” 

She smiled to herself at the thought, “ He will be happy,” 
and then a shade of sadness crossed her fair face at the after 
reflection. “ Some woman will be blest with the earnestness 
and passion of his heart, while I pursue my lonely pathway 
to the grave.” She paused in her work to listen to the 
lonely sound of the pattering rain. She was a picture 
.foftly revealed in the rays of the shaded droplight. Her 


S28 


fTAMWieX. 


firess was white Marseilles, high and close in the throat, and 
fitting accurately a form which was the envy of drawing- 
rooms. Her delicate wrists were revealed in close coat- 
sleeves of the Marseilles. A row of amethyst buttons se^ 
cured her dress from the waist to the throat, where an ame- 
thyst brooch glistened with a central wreath of tiny diamonds. 
The sleeve-buttons and ear-rings of the same stone completed 
the set. Her fingers had been plying swiftly the needles 
through the soft meshes of Berlin wool, whose scarlet hue 
was destined to lend a ray of cheerfulness to the sick-room 
of the feeble Mrs. Deming. Now the hands ceased their 
volatile play as she listened to the voices of the storm. 
Some gallants of the metropolis would have given worlds to 
be the object of the solicitude and interest w^hich that fair 
aristocrat was secretly cherishing at that moment of reverie. 
Her heart was in a lonely room, in the deserted haunts of 
business, far away from the luxury and comfort which were 
about her. 

She resumed her work again, but soon dropped it into her 
lap to listen.. A stage had paused before the house. The 
noisy vehicle rattled on its way up the avenue, and then a 
sharp ring came from the street door. No doubt some call 
of ecclesiastical business for her uncle, whose footfall she 
had heard at intervals pacing the room above. She listened 
to the sound of the servant passing through the hall and 
opening the door. She was thrilled by the male voice 
which inquired for herself. A flush stole to her cheek. 

Galling upon me in such a storm, — how strange 1 ” She 
braced herself for the interview, the meeting wdth one who 
had been civil and sympathetic only, and yet for whom she 
must cherish forever an adoration second only to her wor- 
ship of God. Alone with him I Was it pain or pleasure 
that pressed so firmly on her heart and caused that suffoca- 
tion? In another instant Constant Earle stood in the 
drawing-room, and a proud, beautiful woman was before 
him. He had been certain of an agreeable reception. She 
glanced at him as she cordially greeted him. His face wore 
that radiant light, that free, joyous, contagious hilarity 
which was his natural expression ere pain, anxiety, and lone- 
liness had taken up their abode with him. Care had van- 
ished; vivacity, mirth, inspiration, w'ere the genii of the 
hour. With artistic eye he recognized her lovolliiess, the 
iaste of h^r dress, the elegant hauteur which lingered abou« 


fTAJlfnOM, 


m 

her. As he studied her, he congratulated himself that he 
had pelded to the sudden impulse and sought once more 
the retreat of elegance. She was certainly more beautiful 
than he had ever seen her before. At his last interview she 
had yielded the precedence to her friend. Now he could learn 
more of herself, untrammelled by a distracting third party. 
The flush which had mounted to her cheek at the aimoimco* 
ment of his arrival lingered yet, giving a dangerous fascina^ 
tion to her classical beauty. She caught at once the conta^ 
gion of his light-heartedness, his enthusiasm, his insouciani 
mirth. It relieved her of the momentary embarrassment the 
consciousness of her secret attachment had caused her. She 
rallied him upon his intimacy with Miss Deming. The ear- 
nest, natural avowal of his regard for the genial qualities of 
that young lady’s heart confirmed her statement to Mrs. 
Deming. He was a friend, but would never dream of being 
more. 

“ Perhaps, Mr, Earle, you are a member of the incorri- 
gible club who have voted women non-essentials to men.” 

“ On the contrary, I have a nature which demands more 
gentleness, more sympathy, more affection, than most men. 
I live in the ideal hope, which, after all, may be only a fool- 
ish delusion, chat I shall be loved yet by a woman who 
knows no life, no .hope, no conceivable joy, except in the in- 
tense devotion of herself to the dictates of her heart ; who 
will love blindlj^ eagerly, madly, without reserve and with- 
out suspicion. I despise the love of modern society, which 
is narrowed, restrained, strangled by expediency, and anni- 
hilated by the false doctrine of the non-emotional. I cling 
to the glorious records of woman’s intensity and constancy in 
the ancient poets ; and I believe that I can love as unselfishly, 
as heroically, as noble men have loved in the past. I know 
that the mass of men and women are incapable of this ideal 
love. But I Imow, too, that it is a reality with some of both 
sexes, exalting their natures, burning the selfish out of them, 
making them purer, better, more heroic men and women. I 
know there are some natures who are capable of a more 
mai’tyr-like devotion to thoir native land and its liberties 
than others. Without hope of reward they will struggle 
and suffer for their country, and never yield in the darkest 
hour of trial and dungeon torture. They live and die zeal- 
ots for fVeedom. So are there women who will love witli the 
constancy and burning ardor of the sun. God graut 


m 


WAMWICM, 


before I die, the love of such a woman for X slnoerelj be 
lieve I can appreciate it, and return it fourfold.” 

“ You are an enthusiast, Mr. Earle. You are not like 
most men. Your conception of such a love alone entitles 
you to win it. But tell me, Do you believe that love can 
flourish alone, unencoursiged ? Let me state the strongest 
case. Can a man or woman, as your experience has gone, 
love and retain the intensity and constancy to one object as 
you have stated, when time has demonstrated that there has 
not been and never will be the slightest return ? Will not 
the weary, hungry heart turn in time to some new object that 
will love and appreciate it?” 

Never! Mark you, I speak not of men and women as 
they ordinarily are constituted. I have stated my prop- 
osition only of the few. With them love cannot spring up 
except for persons who possess high and noble qualities, 
rheir love is predicated upon excellence, not upon the il- 
lusion of a moment. That excellence once established, 
love results that storms cannot shake, contempt or neglect 
cannot quench, death cannot bury. It is a fire stolen from 
heaven. It exalts, purifies, ennobles the heart. An un- 
worthy thought can never take root in it. One can take it 
fearlessly before the altar of God and ask him to consecrate 
It to his honor and glory. Nine-tenths of the world would 
mock at ray words, would believe me a fool or a lunatic. 
They cannot appreciate, cannot comprehend, such a love no 
more than they can comprehend that clinging love for a 
country’s liberty which survives when armies have been 
swept away, when dungeons are glutted, and resistance is 
deemed maniacal. They hope, they trust, they struggle, 
they cling, those wonderful few, when hope has gone down in 
blood. So is it with the gifted few who can really, truly, 
and spiritually love. I would not have any other love. 
And so rare is it that I scarcely hope for it. The love ol 
God is suflacient for all men, but he does not forbid the 
craving for that human love which is a purifier of the heart 
and an exalter of human action.” 

She could not question his sincerity. The fire of the aspira- 
tion was in his eyes. In the heart of every true woman so 
strong is the necessity of being loved, that she cannot come 
Ui contact with such a being as Constant Earle without 
realizing that there are men born with ardent cravings and 
Intensity like herself to be devotedly and spiritually loved 


WAMWtOi, 




They are exceptional men, and it is worth tbo effort to win 
them. Most men weary of their conquests when beauty haa 
faded and the grace of form is lost ; but tliese true ^.leal 
lovers eee poetry and loveliness during mortal life. But 
wcMjnen recognize them, detect them, and fear them not., 
for to them woman is the highest type of loveliness, purity, 
inspiration, outside of the walla of the celestial city. Th®r« 
was an earnestness, a freedom of expression, a revelation of 
her inner nature, in the response of Miss Delano, which she 
seldom manifested in the presence of gentlemen. 

“ You amaze and delight me at the same instant. There 
is a divine influence in the conceptions of poetry which only 
the poetic can appreciate. Many may feel the human thrill 
at the words of song which recites noble actions, but a few 
penetrate to the inner sanctum of the poet's idea. There is 
an exaltation of sentiment, of pathos, of ideality, which the 
favored spirits alone attain. So in love. A woman may 
love forever without encouragement, without even contact. 
I cannot doubt the possibility of men so loving, when youi 
countenance is radiant merely at the enunciation of tha 
thought.” 

“ Why, then, Miss Delano, do women allow themselves so 
readily to adopt the cant of fashionable life, about securing 
wealthy matches ; why look so coldly upon the earnest, the 
struggling, the indigent? Men hear at one time or another 
their time-serving avowals, their purpose to secure wealthy 
partners, their selfish utterances, and, true and noble as they 
may chance to be, they become possessed of the idea that all 
women are only schemers. From that instant, woman falls 
in the scale. Where before she could have claimed honor 
which would never be taken away, an ideal reverence cloth.* 
ing her in a glamour of fascination which would follow her 
to the grave, she then becomes no more in a man's estrma. 
tion than the slave-wife of the Indian. Why will womeu 
thus boldly, freely, utter selfishness whieh disillusions all 
generous natures on the instant?” 

Miss Delano smiled as she responded, “ Women are great 
fools generally; there is no doubt of that. I am fidixid 
that the standard of manhood is depreciating also under the 
Influence of wealth and luxury. The intricate connections 
of capital and the trades have proved themselves hostile to 
individuality. An old-fashioned burst of enthusiasm, a 
warm manifestation of friendship, the utterance even of s 




m 

aoble thought, oocasions a smile of Incredulity. These 
pear to be suited only to tho_regions of mountains, the 
localities where settlements are few. And yet one fears to 
avow this truth almost. It is so apt to subject one to the 
charge of growing old to discover superiorities in anything 
the past has given birth to. But we shall drift into a current 
of genuine old fogyism if we continue in this strain. Let 
us change the subject. I recollect that you are an ardent 
friend of one of the muses at least. I have some new music ; 
would you like to have me sing for you? You cannot ex- 
pect me to produce the marvellous effects upon the stars, the 
sea, and the rivers, and Moimt Helicon, that accompanied the 
efforts of the muses when they sang against the nine 
daughters of Pierus ; still I will do my best for you.” 

“ Nothing would give me more pleasure. Miss Delano, pro- 
vided you give me a style of music which is well defined 
and articulated. I know how well you can sing. But 
Heaven save me from Miss Temple’s Italian music at the 
ioirie I Do you recollect that remarkable effort ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed. It reminded me of Domenico Capranica’s 
answer when Nicholas V. asked him what he thought of his 
choir. He said it seemed to him ‘ like a sack full of young 
swine ; for he heard a dreadful noise, but could distinguish 
nothing articulate.’ ” 

“ That is a fair and moderate description of Miss Temple 
and her coadjutors. But what are you going to sing for me. 
Miss Delano?” 

“ Selections from Allegri. I know what style of music 
you crave. I remember everything. You gave me your 
taste at the soiree. Seat yourself comfortably in that comer, 
out of the light. I can turn my own leaves. Shut up every 
sense save that of hearing. Turning my music will distract 
you. All authors are weary and need repose when they lis- 
ten to music. No remonstrance. I order you into the cor- 
ner. That is uncle’s seat, and he knows all the requisites to 
effect in music.” 

He obeyed her directions, and was soon sitting alone and 
in silence, borne unresistingly along by the uniformly 
directed tide of the great composer’s harmonies. 


WAMimX. 


m 


«fj8?ter xxims. 8 


Bed leares trailing, 
Fall unfailing. 
Dropping, n^ng, 
From tba wood. 


T. BvcnAVAS 


It was a warm and beautifUl day in October. The park 
of Sublimity” was radiant in its mantle of scarlet and gold. 
It« giant maples, bard and soft, standing at long intervals in 
the great sweep of the English meadow grass were gorgeous 
enough In their autumnal costumes for a pageantry of mon- 
archs, a congress of emperors. In the far distance wei e the 
dense masses of their retainers, the wild forest-trees of the 
plains and mountains, arrayed in garments of dark green, 
purple, and brown. The miniature lake with the serpentine 
stream entering and leaving it, glistening in the fUll efful- 
gence of the sun, and the broad mass of scarlet leaves -cling* 
ing to the front and gables of the antique mansion, heighcened 
the effect of the scene. Far away, and high in air, like the 
cimeter-edged A1 Sarat of the Mahometan paradise, was 
traced against the blue sky the fairy bridge spanning the 
mountain gorge. The solemn and bare mountain-tops in the 
far west looked down upon the gorgeous scene in swllen 
majesty, and the roar of the Sorrow Kil over tlie rocks t/f its 
hidden bed came indistinctly through the hushed and mel- 
low atmosphere of the autumn. 

So mild and gentle was the breath of the dying year, that 
even the invalid mother of Miss Deming could sit unhai med 
in her easy-chair upon the piazza of the country-house, and 
watch the glories of the park, and listen to the sounds of 
mirth which rang out upon the air from every side. Young 
ladies were urging their graceful steeds in races with gentle- 
men across the green sward, while others loitered under the 
maples in quiet and mysterious converse with gallants, who 
seemed to partake of the dreamy nature of the October air. 
Two graceful girls, with ringlets streaming on their shoul- 
ders, had rowed the scarlet-banded skiff into the centre of the 
lake, where they challenged their beaux upon the shore to 
watie after them and testify the sincerity of their gallantry. 



8d4 


WAMWJ€mr 


cured possession of “ Sublimity,” imd seemed determined to 
retain it. 

Under one huge-spreading maple, flaming in its fiery man* 
tie, was a rustic seat occupied by the mistress of Sublimity.” 
She was engaged in attentions to, and conversation with, 
two admirers: one a gentleman scarcely past the age of 
thirty, and the other an unbridled, chestnut-colored ^teed 
that had wandered up, in his meadow ramble, to her side, foi 
ft kind word and a caress. The heiress was guarded by two 
that occupied a large share of her heart sympathies : Con- 
stant Earle and Warwick, the horse and the amateur veteri- 
nary physician that had saved him. She had invited the 
Reverend Thomas Delano, one of her aunts, and several 
young ladies and gentlemen to share the hospitality of “ Sub- 
limity ” for a few weeks of the autumn. The period of their 
stay had neaiiy passed, and all seemed determined to make 
the most of the fine weather which still remained to them 
before their fiight to the city. The careless hilarity and 
freedom of the Roman Saturnalia reigned. The heiress had 
suggested to Miss Deming that the presence of the author of 
Polymnia would be an agreeable accession to the circle 
invited to the country home. That young lady had acqui- 
esced instantly, and became the medium through whom Con- 
stant Earle received his invitation. She had not relinquished 
all hope of making a conquest in that quarter. The author 
was exceedingly courteous and friendly towards the daugh- 
ter of his benefactor. She had not yet discovered that his 
intercourse transcended the significance of those adjectives. 
The idea never entered her head that Miss Delano’s sugges- 
tion covered a secret yearning in her own behalf. The se- 
rene, royal manner of the mistress of “ Sublimity” cloaked any 
manifestation of tenderness. She appeared to have acted 
only in the interest of her friend. Indeed, she could not he 
charged with having thrown any obstacle in the way of 
familiar intercourse between the author and the fair girl 
whose life he had saved. She never sought his attentions or 
engrossed his time when Miss Deming was near. But it 
was a satisfaction to be in the same house with him, to know 
that his poetic nature was appreciating to the utmost the 
beauty of her country home and the society of his peers. 
His exuberant manners, his courtly kindness, his avowed 
and pleasant leadership, made him par excellence the favorite 
of the gay elide. Severn! fm: ones hft(f ooked into those 


^dKjnca[. 


m 


fieh^ blue eyea with Interest, sTowed openly to each other 
their convictions that he was “perfectly splendid,” and 
secretly to Uiemselves that It was a shame he would not 
marry. But he quietly managed to please them all, and 
pressed silently to his heart the letter and ring of Nacoochee, 
tl»t strange hallucination of his dreaming soul, that lost, 
hidden, far-off Evening Star. 

But the inevitable intimacy of persons beneath the same 
roof brought him sometimes into close familiarity with the 
proud, beautiful girl who loved him. He was the best horse- 
man on the place. The heiress was not long in making this 
discovery. They had reined their horses to a stand-still 
more than once upon the fairy bridge, to wait for the caval- 
cade behind them. The farmer who was the owner of “ Mad 
Bess ” had privately stated his opinion to Miss Delano that “ 
“ Mister Earle kin make better time out of that critter than 
any man that ever straddled her afore.” A faint suspicion 
would occasionally steal across her, that perhaps Muslama, 
under his guidance, might have made better time in the race 
with Warwick. Unfortunately the Arabian was laboring 
under an unaccountable lameness during this visit, and the 
question could not at present be solved. If Warwick is ever 
^aten, she thought to herself, it would break the fall of my 
pride to know that the victorious rider was the author of 
Polymnia. Alas I he cares not to conquer me in any- 
thing. But there were moments when she realized that 
Constant Earle was fascinated, spellbound in her society. 
He was half conscious of the magnetism himself. She was 
congenial and sympathetic. At times ho seemed to walk in 
dreams with her. She dwelt in the same heaven with his 
idealism. She valued and disliked as he did. Both advo- 
cates of church authority and conservatism in religion, they 
despised intolerance, and discovered friends of God in every 
clime. “ I abhor the dogmatists,” he said to her, one day, 

“ with the intensity of Menoditus. There is but one God ; 
let each man direct his thoughts to serve him, not to dissect 
and criticise his neighbor.” 

“ You have been reading Robertson's sermons, Mr. Earle. 
Are you not afraid of your orthodoxy? ” 

“ That will always assert itself. Miss Delano. In my ex- 
perience the worst ills of life result from the failure to cul- 
tivate the Christian heart. The Christian head will not 
receive so rigid a scrutiny at the gates of Paradiee by fkr ” 




Conatant E«rle oonld not fWl, with hi» ijlegant tastes, ^ 
appreciate the fair mistress of “ Sublimity.’^ Every word, 
grace, and characteristic of a high-toned woman, was associ- 
ated with that queenly girl. He found himself at times com- 
paring her with the Spanish scholar. How could he, with 
the Instincts of the aristocrat, balance in the same scales the 
mutilated plebeian, with her low associations, and the belle 
of wealth and fashion ? He put this question to himself in 
the silence of his chamber, surrounded by every elegance of 
her refined hospitality. Above his dressing-table hung a 
portrait of May Delano, at that moment of interrogation. 
How exquisitely had the artist sketched that lithe, but rounded 
outline I How earnest, and yet suggestive of mirth, were the 
lustrous gray eyes I The lips might have tempted an anchorite. 
He recalled the illusions to which men had been subjected in 
the past. He remembered the fountain Clitorius, in Azania, 
whose waters gave a dislike for wine to those who drank 
them. He realized that May Delano wsis the wine and 
Nacoochee the water. But how pure, sweet, and refreshing 
was that water, that fountain which had burst forth beside 
him when he was faint and weary of life 1 But there is an 
insidious temptation in wine placed before us, sparkling, 
beantifijl, inspiring in its influences. He was drinking of 
the wine ; its wild, exhilarating thrill was stealing slowly over 
his senses. And yet amid the pauses of the Lethean draughts 
he caught glimpses of the far-off Evening Star, in its pure, 
cold, stately fascination. 

On this lovely, dreamy morning of October, as he sat beside 
her under the maple, watching her graceful caress of War- 
wick, who wandered to and fro, and then returned to her at 
intervals, he realized that she, too, possessed his dreamy, 
poetic nature. Her eye was revelling in the mellow beauty of 
the landscape, and she spoke quietly of every mystic charm of 
the sunlight, flecking the grass through the scarlet leaves, the 
far-off haze which belted the mountains, and the Arcadian effect 
of the revellers, scattered away over the lawns. Her imagi- 
nation sketched for him figures and palaces in the foamy frag- 
ments of cloud which slowly drifted across the olue sea of 
heaven. He had never known her before as a dreamer. She 
was manifesting, day by day, glimpses of that inner life that 
silently holds on its way, unseen and unknown by the mass 
of mortals hunting in the pursuits of business. He wae 
ooctipied in that most hazardous w^ich for a poetic nature 


frJLBWJOK^ 


$B1 


&>ilowing the graceftil arm of a lovely woman^ weariiig fab* 
rice of dreamy conception from the beauties of nature* She 
looked at him now and then, and smiled at his merry com« 
ments at her air-castles. But at times a mystic softnesa 
and gentleness stole to her eyes; faint lines of sadness lin 
gered about her mouth, which indicated that the life of an 
heiress is not wholly devoid of care. He silently wondered, 
but resolved at a favorable turn of the conversation to probe 
this mystery. At 4)re8ent he must transfer to the imagC' 
chamber of his brain the details of that lovely figure which 
was beside him. 

He realized once again that taste and exquisite neatness 
which enhanced on every occasion the loveliness of her per- 
son. The poplin dress, which traced the outlines of her neck 
and bust, was of that autumnal hue which distinguishes the 
fallen beech-leaf. Its row of fastening buttons were crystal, 
ciit in many angles, and the richest, purest shade of blue 
velvet circled her throat in a neck-ribbon. The glisten of 
her chestnut hair was shaded by a bat with a pheasant's 
wing. 

At length he said, after a moment’s silence, when both had 
turned to watch a spirited race of a lady and gentleman, 
superbly mounted upon two iron-gray geldings, and who had 
disappeared in the dense wood which covered Miss Delano's 
favorite road to the bridge : — 

“ One 80 capable of deriving pleasure from every cloud 
and tree and formation of nature should never know of sor- 
row and unrest and pain. And yet if I am not wholly inex- 
pert in reading the human face, you have experienced at 
times the most persistent and keen anguish.” 

She turned to him in surprise, at the abruptness and truth 
of his surmise, but she said, quietly : — 

“ The human heart, Mr. Earle, is a mechanism so delicate 
and so fearfully susceptible to the influences of the passions, 
that it must suffer as well as enjoy. Suffering is a part of 
our forfeiture of Eden. We all must have times of depres- 
aion and desolation. I was not aware, however, that my face 
was peculiarly adapted to reflect the secrets of my heart.” 

“ l^obably not. And yet you will be still more surprised 
if you will allow me to intimate what I have detected, or fan- 
cied I have detected, in the lines of your mouth.” 

“ Speak on ; avow the entire discovery,” she replied with 
aa Incredulous smil©. “I am so (ionfuient that my count©' 


WAMWmS. 


m 

nanc© la not a window for my thoughts, that I fear not e^ixj 
conversation which may lead me to avow what are my 
thoughts. This would be the usual and necessary result of 
such a topic as you have introduced. I am upon my guard 
now, bear in mind, since you have confessed that you have 
been studying me. Pray tell me what my mouth has indi- 
cated.” 

** Intense sadness, which no human being can share, of 
rather will be allowed to share. You have met with a dis- 
appointment, which you will not divulge to your intimate 
friend, Miss Deming. You cling more clos^ely to your uncle 
for companionship than you once did, and io distressed are 
you, at times, that you have been tempted yo co-nfide in him, 
for the mere sake of having some one to talk to. Human 
agony is relieved by confidence. You ki ow that fact, and 
have debated in your own mind whether it were best to 
unbosom yourself to your relative. I do not mean to say 
that the lines of your mouth have revealed all this to me, but 
having observed you in the past, and at ‘ Sublimity,^ I believe 
that you were far happier in New York than you have been 
since your arrival here. You had a certain amount of hops 
there, which has left you since you have been here. Of 
course I have no right to be an inquisitor, and to demand of 
you if this is not true. But I know it.” 

She retained her self-command, but not with her usual 
ease. He had pressed the spring of a wonderful truth. No 
doubt it was accidental, and he had only been a cunning mas- 
ter of conjecture. 

_ “ And do you claim to have supernatural power enough 
to specify what the cause of my secret grief may be ? ” 

“ Certainly not. No object has suggested itself to my 
mind, or come under my observation. But you have not the 
confidence in Miss Deming that you had once. No I I do 
not mean that. But I would say this. Delicacy prevents 
your making that friend a confidante in this matter. When 
she approaches you smile. Fomerly you cared not to con- 
ceal any sadness from her. Wait, please don^t interrupt 
me yet. These discoveries are not wonderM to close 
observers. I have noticed you particularly, because from 
the first I was interested in you. Men sometimes notice, 
more keenly than you imagine, the slightest evidences of cool- 
ness or change between two ladies who are friends. Twa 
woxnenwho are intimates have a peculiar Intensity of regard 


WAMWICX. 


38 $ 

or each other, when everything Is going on smoothly. 
When the slightest collision of interests, or the necessity oi 
concealing a secret from the other, occurs, some stranger, 
some third party, detects a change in demeanor. I some* 
times can do it. 1 have done it in this instance. I have 
seen you shake oflf sadness, that she might not detect it. 
Formerly I noticed on several occasions that you were de- 
pressed, and made no effort to conceal it J^om her. There- 
fore I reason that a barrier has arisen.” 

You must have employed, Mr. Earle, in your draughts, 
the thalassegle of the Magi, to aid your vision. So won- 
derful an herbalist, so remarkable a pupil of Pythagoras and 
Democritus, must be able also to reveal to me the cause of 
this slight estrangement from my friend.” 

The ironical tone was a cloak to divert attention, to avoid 
the acknowledgment that he had penetrated a secret which 
she fancied hidden by the ordinary caution of her manner. 
It was rapidly becoming apparent that her companion was 
not only an author and a poetic dreamer, but an observer. 
She must be more thoroughly on her guard in his presence. 
Her pride revolted at the thought that he might have fath- 
omed her secret attachment also. The old hauteur of hei 
manner returned. 

“ The keenness of your satirical dart I acknowledge, and 
shall not resent it, for the simple reason that a response in 
the same spirit may lead to a quarrel and consequent 
estrangement. I vaiue your regard too highly. Miss Delano, 
to forfeit it by an unkind reply, particularly when I am so 
soon to leave.” 

She was partially mollified by his non-combatism. He 
was truly soon to pass from her sight. This might be the 
last opportunity of familiar intercourse with one whom she 
loved with all the vehemence of a passionate nature. She 
had not the faintest belief that he would ever love her. But 
in her agony and desolation of heart she craved his friendly 
Intercourse in the long winter before her. Unkind words 
now might rupture their intimacy in the future. A faint 
tremor was in her voice as she replied ; — 

“ You cannot value my regard more highly, Mr. Earle, 
than I value yours. Suppose we allow this subject to drop. 
I am not always happy, but I have so much to be tli inkfiil 
for that it is wrong to complain. You, ho doubt, have your 
secret griefs like every one else. We must remain friends, 


nuMwnac. 


UO 

and m easier to preserve mutual regard we must never en 
croach upon unknown ground. I hope you will not forget t« 
call upon mo after our return to the city.” 

“ I never make a call there that affords me one-half th€ 
pleasure that a call upon you does.” 

“ You are too truthful, Mr. Earle, to flatter. This is an 
anexpected avowal, and, like all great pleasures that come 
to me, is utterly unforeseen.” 

Was he softening towards her at last? The veil was 
slightly lifted from her heart. A secret, perhaps an uncon- 
scious, preference for her society had been germinating in the 
soul of that man. She had won the hearts of men less sus- 
ceptible. Had her sceptre departed from her? Could she 
not win the love of the only being she had ever cared for? 
Like the flash of the lightning a purpose came to her. While 
yet he was with her at “ Sublimity,” she would afford him an 
opportunity to know his own heart. K secret regard for her 
was lurking behind that affable, self-possessed manner of the 
author, jealousj’^ would develop it. That terrible agony of 
love makes even the dumb speak. She had heard of that 
wonderful weapon in battles of the heart. She resolved to 
employ it, and that right speedily. Their tete-d-fHe was in- 
terrupted at this juncture by the appearance of a lady and 
gentleman, who dashed rapidly up to the rustic seat, and 
there checked their horses. Nothing could have been more 
fortunate for Miss Delano’s plan than the remark which 
fell from the lady’s lips. 

“ O May I here is a rebel against your sovereignty. Col- 
onel La^ange says Warwick can be beaten, and his horse 
can do it. I wish you would race with him, just to take the 
conceit out of him. He fancies, because he has outrun my 
iron-gray, he is lord of the turf. Do give him a touch of 
Warwick’s qualities.” 

“ I only remarked. Miss Deming, that he might find his 
match, and my horse was as likely to be that match as any 
in the neighborhood.” 

“ I have no objection to have a run with you, colonel,” 
said the heiress, “ provided you allow me to choose my own 
time.” 

“ Certainly, Miss Delano ; a lady can claim all such trifling 
matters as that. But I think you can make the race not only 
mteresting, but absolutely thrilling, by attaching oertali 
ftimulanta to the proposal.” 


wj.Aim.’v. 


$41 


** How Jg that, coloisel ? ** 

“ Why, for instance, make your beaatiftil hand the priz^ 
if you are defeated.” 

“ Warwick would not suffer me to dispose of my hand in 
that way. But, for fear you may think I am boastful regard^ 
ing my hunter, I , will consider your proposal favorably, on 
condition, however, that any one, or all, of my guests, may 
be allowed to compete for the prize.” 

“ All right, Miss Delano. ‘ Sublimity ’ will be in an uproar, 
I assure you.” 

“ Allow poor Harry Lester to enter the lists,” exclaimed 
Miss Deming. “ It will be cruel to leave him out, and he sc 
frantically enslaved by your charms.” 

“Very well, Carrie, I will prescribe no limits. Any gen*' 
tleman that my friend, Mrs. Lagrange, will admit to the 
park, may have an opportunity to breathe the dust ftom 
Warwick’s heels.” 

The laughter and merriment occasioned by the discussion 
of this wild proposal soon collected the revellers from every 
quarter of the park under the scarlet-robed maple. Before 
an hour the hastily proposed scheme was matured and the 
regulations of the contest accurately defined. Before forty- 
eight hours should elapse, the heiress was to run Warwick 
against all competitors ; every gentleman to be masked, that 
no favoritism might be exhibited by the heiress. She knew 
the qualities of Constant Earle’s horsemanship. “ Sublimity ” 
waa, indeed, in an uproar. 

29 * 


mdMmcr, 


MS 


Cfjapter XXXVSSS. 

* with a glancing eye and curving mane, 

He neighs and champs on the bridle-rein; 

One spring, and his saddled back I press. 

And ours is a common happiness ! 

Tis the rapture of motion! a hurrying olovd 
When the loosened winds are breathing loud; 

A shaft from the painted Indian’s bow — 

A bird — in the pride of speed wo go.” 

Huge as despair, as if in weariness. 

The melancholy mountain yawns; below ^^ 

Ten hear, but see not, an impetuous torrent 
Baglng among the earems, and a bridge 
OrMsee the ehiMa. 

SnUiiT. 

Thb sun arose gloriously upon a scene of havoc. The 
t rrific gde of the past night had hurled to the earth by tens 
of thousands the scarlet and golden leaves. Some of the 
maples were entirely stripped of their autumnal garb, and 
the crisp, dancing leaves were fluttering away over the park 
avenue at every whisper of the wind. Some floated upon 
the bosom of the lake like miniature barks ; others glided 
along with the current of the stream until they leaped head- 
long into the Sorrow Kil. There had been still more serious 
slaughter at the hands of the wild wind. Huge branches had 
been wrenched from the maple trunks and cast to the earth, 
and in the course of the morning rumors were brought to the 
inmates of “ Sublimity "that several trees along the Sorrow Kil 
had been uprooted by the gale and hurled down into the bed 
of that stream. As the guests descended one by one into 
the breakfast-room, they had strange tales to relate of the 
sounds which had awakened them at midnight, of the boom- 
-ing back of window-shutters, the rattle of vines upon the 
panes, and the howls and shrieks of the wind raving away 
over the park. 

But the glories of the sun-burst were enlivening the views 
from the windows, the fires blazed merrily in the grates, and 
every one was wild with excitement, for it was the day of 
the race. Every lady was already familiar with the details 
of the new ridi^-habit in which the heiress was to hazard 
her liand and her independence upon the * 




m 


Warwick. No trifling amount of anxiety existed in female 
bosoms as to the particular gentlemen who would participate 
in the contest. Every contestant was, in the language of 
the turf, “ kept dark.” It had been decided that all the gen- 
tlemen at “ Sublimity ” should repair to the residence of Mrs. 
Lagrange, who had been selected by Miss Delano as judge 
of qualifications. There all who wished to compete against 
the heiress should be passed upon, masked, and sent on to 
the park gates with the passport signed by that lady. There 
was a nervous fiutter in some female hearts. It was not im- 
possible that some gallants who had whispered soft fiatteries 
under the maples might take it into their heads to forget, 
and, under the stimulant of winning a great fortune, make 
their appearance secretly under mask and mounted. Mrs. 
Lagrange had carte blanche to admit any gentleman of her 
acquaintance who was in good standing in the circle of the 
4lUe, Who of Miss Delano’s guests would compete ? What 
outsiders from the surrounding country-seats would risk a 
dash on horseback for the hand of “ the beautiful aristocrat ” ? 
These questions were the subject of -anxiety and merriment 
at that large breakfast-party. The secret interrogatory of 
the beautiful hostess, who presided at that table, to her own 
heart was, “Will Constant Earle enter the race for my 
hand?” She was confident no" other equestrian could 

snatch the blue ribbon*^ from Warwick’s bridle. She be- 
lieved no courser of the surrounding country could bring 
even that gentleman squarely to her side without her secret 
connivance. Warwick should never cast aside his laurels 
save to secure her the love of the only being her heart had 
ever craved. She east glances at him seated near her. 
That radiant, beautiful, manly face betra3^ed no secret pur- 
pose to contend. He was a schooled gallant of the festive 
circle. She caught, with the wonderful skill of womanhood, 
every word he uttered in the confusion and merriment of the 
table. His purpose could not be fathomed. He was as in- 
scrutable as his fellows jesting with him. She could discover 
nothing. Her acumen elicited no more than what was uni- 
versally known, the certainty that her guest, Mr. Lagrange, 
who had originated the challenge, would be one of her piu> 
suers. All else was as far remote from certainty as the 
Sibylline oracles. 

“ What horse do you intend to ride, Mr. Barle?" was the 


944 


tf^AMWTCK, 


Inquiry made by Miss Demlng, who sat opposite to him *1 
the table. 

“ I am undecided, Miss Deming. If I select Cyllarus or 
Xanthus, Mercury will feel slighted. On the other hand, if 
I give preference to cither of his steeds, Phlogius or Har* 
pagus, 1 shall have Juno at my hair.” 

“ Pshaw I ” was the annoyed response ; “ you are all 
wonderfully mysterious. But not one of you will come wlth» 
in a mile of Warwick. I know what the result of this race 
will be before it commences.” 

“ Unquestionably you do, Miss Deming ; but then you 
know you are the first spectator of a country race upon 
whom the mantle of Carmenta has fallen. But please don’t 
predict aloud, for that will destroy all the sport.” 

“lam confident, Mr. Earle, that you won’t participate in 
this race at all. Look, girls, how calm he is beside Mr. 
Inglis 1 See ! Mr. Inglis is so excited he can’t eat his break- 
fast. Poor man, he hopes to win by lightening his weight. 
I think. May, this matter of hea^y or light weights should 
have been settled in the preliminaries. It’s always a pre- 
scribed matter on the turf.” 

“ Come, Mr. Earle,” pleaded a fair, dark-eyed beauty be- 
side him ; “ drop the mysterious and tell us who values our 
hostess highly enough to follow her to-day.” 

“ Miss Olcott, that fact is as obscure as the secret of the 
‘Gulf Stream.* Some aavans fancy it is an outlet of the 
Mediterranean, and derives its warmth from passing down- 
ward near the central fires of the earth, and then emerging 
somewhere in the American tropics.” 

“ Fiddlesticks I you are all too provoking ; none of you 
deserve to catch Miss Delano. But, nevertheless, I hope 
some one may. I want a wedding excitement. May, will 
you honor me by appointing me your second bridemaid ? ” 

“ Don’t be concerned, girls,” was the response of Miss 
Delano. “ There will be no wedding. Warwick is too at- 
tached to me to allow any one to share my heart. But 
come, we have many things to attend to, and eleven o’clock 
is not far off.” 

The breakfast party was thus broken up. The mistress 
of “ Sublimity” was cool and unconcerned apparently about 
the result. All knew her almost superstitious faith in the 
ever new and developing powers of her favorite. 

long before the 'appointed hour for the start ten gentle^ 


WJJtWTCS:* 


m 


men, superbly mounted, and maske^l in gray dominos, reined 
their steeds into line within the park and near to the start* 
ing-post, the porter’s lodge. Mr. Deming inspected every 
passport as it was presented at the gate, and admitted the 
bearer, but failed to recognize a single one of the strange 
group. A few of the country people, attracted by the sight 
of horsemen so singularly resembling a mounted brother- 
hood of monks, had gathered to the iron gate, and were 
quietly peering through into the park. The gentlemen 
guests, who had no intention of riding against the owner of 
Warwick, had returned from the residence of Mrs. Lagrange, 
and were collected about that lady in the porter’s lodge, 
awaiting the start, after which they could enter the park and 
witness the race. The object of their concealment was that 
Miss Delano might have no clue to her pursuers. She was 
expected to start a few paces before the line of horsemen at 
the gate, follow the line of the park avenue past her residence 
until she entered the wood. Then her course lay through 
the forest, along her favorite ride, up to the distant bridge 
spanning the cliffs, then down the opposite side of the moun- 
tain to the extreme limit of her estate beyond the Sorrow 
Kil. The distance was more than four miles. The' success 
ful rider was expected to snatch from the neck of Warwick, 
as he passed, a long blue ribbon which extended from the 
bit to the saddle, and which was to be the trophy and criterion 
of Us victory. 

The hour of eleven was close at hand when a bevy of 
young ladies emerged from the mansion and paused a 
moment to receive the congratulations of the Reverend 
Thomas Delano, Mrs. Deming, and Miss Delano’s relatives, 
upon their elegant appearance in their riding habits. The 
group of stationary spectators upon the piazza were in a 
thrill of excitement at the opening of the contest. The 
young ladies who were to be Miss Delano’s escort pas ' ^d 
then down the walk to the mounting-block, and, securing 
firm seats in their saddles, arranged themselves on either 
side and awaited the coming of Miss Delanq. Warwick 
was led up to the block by the coachman, who was fairly 
trembling with nervousness. The gallant hunter, with his 
neck proudly arched, curvetted up to his place, as conscious 
apparently as his human admjjers of what was expected of 
him. Mike had groomed him within an inch of his life. 
His dfyrk-chestnut coat glistened in the sunlight and the 


WjlMWTOe* 


m 

long bine ribbon flattered along his neck in the light brcatk 
of the wind. He lool^d empire. His impatient spirit wai 
not long delayed. His mistress appeared at the door, 
moved gayly down the lawn with her riding-habit gathered 
np in her left hand, and an emerald-headed riding-whip in 
her right. She knew the oriental veneration for that ex^ 
quisite gem, and she remembered its reputed virtue when 
she selected it from the dozen riding whips that had been 
presented to her. It imparts courage to the wearer. She 
little dreamed how soon that quality would be demanded 
from her repertoire of heroisms. Her riding-dress was a 
royal purple ; a velvet cap of the same hue encircled by a 
white ostrich plume surmounted her patrician head. Her 
cheek was rose-tinged iii the fresh, pure atmosphere of the 
October morning, and as she mounted and rode away a>t the 
head of her escort three wild cheers of admiration burst from 
the ten esquestrians ^ho were to contend for the small, 
slender hand nestling in her buckskin gauntlet. 

She had fancied some supernatural instinct would reveal 
to her the idol of her dreams. But as she bounded up to the 
silent gray line of competitors she discovered that she could 
not recognize one familiar figure. There was only one ridei 
who could not be Constant Earle. He was manifestly too short 
The other nine were all apparently of the same height. Sh« 
paused before them and carefully scanned every man. Every 
right hand rose in a salute, and she touched the emerald handle 
of her whip to her brow. How should she distinguish the 
form of the author of Polymnia ? She acknowledged to herself 
the impossibility of that discovery. Then I must beat them 
all,’^ she whispered to herself. She turned another glance 
at the shortest of the group. lie was superbly mounted, 
and his coal-black steed looked formidable. Strange that 
the shortest man should have selected a courser, evidently q 
thorough-bred, but lower than the horses of his companions 
This graceful beast was fourteen and a half hands. high, 
dark as the starless night, and of t mvstical beauty seldorc 
witnessed save in the land of dreams. It was a pure blood 
of that wonderful breed known as the Kochlani, whose gene- 
alogy, it is claimed, can be traced two thousand years. There 
was an unaccountable fascination in this exquisite brute, 
which she instantly entitled “ Night.” With imperturbuble 
silence both horse and rider fixed their mysterious eyes oa 
tlM rider of Warwick, A sensation of uneasiness crept 


WAKWtCK, 


m 

3>n her as she gazed ; but the restless moyements of Warwick 
engaged her attention. There should be no cause of anxiety* 
she reflected, because the horse is strange. She gave ono 
further, searching glance at the mysterious “Night” and 
his rider, and then waved her hand to her escort. They 
immediately bounded away from her, and she was left alone. 
Mr. Deming approached her then for any further direction 
or suggestion. She had none. She recollected, however, 
a remark upon the conditions of the race which had been 
made at the house. She motioned him back to her and 
gave him a communication for the silent equestrians behind 
her “ Tell them that I ride this race to the death ; no accidents 
or obstacles shall deter me from giving my hand to any 
gentleman who fairly seizes the blue ribbon between this 
point and the reaching-post.” 

This communication was received with applause. Mr. 
Deming then assumed a central point in the park, and waved 
his handkerchief. They were off, Warwick covering dis- 
tance flnely in his eagerness, and the pursuers for a few sec- 
onds almost abreast of each other. The hunter appeared to 
realize the emergency. He stretched forward his elegant 
head and sped like the wind. Quicker, freer, wilder, came 
his inspiration ; faster, faster, faster, his hoofs spurned the 
track. The spectators on the piazza breathed freer, exult- 
antly. Warwick had never manifested such supremacy. 
The secret of his ever-increasing speed no man at “ Sublimity ” 
knew. It was the patrician blood and fire in his veins from 
his remote ancestor, Lindsey’s Arabian, that wonderfiil sire 
of the fieet steeds of Virginia. His rider had gradually 
learned from experience that he had never really been put to 
his speed. His stride was terrific. As he passed near the 
mansion the guests cheered him. The noble creature fired 
at the sound and responded by a spasmodic vault ahead. 
The long white plume of the rider whistled in the wind of 
his flight. Her eye gleamed in the consciousness of new 
power. She sat immovable as li u Amazon above the stride 
of a Flying Childers. She was leaving everything behind 
her save one. The pride of the desert alone held his own. 
llie dark, magnificent, mysterious “ Night” clung to her 
like an edict of destiny ; smooth and clean as an arrow’s 
flight he glided after her, his light hoofs daintily skimming 
the earth. He gained nothing, lost nothing; and the in- 
terest soon centred upon the two. At length they reached 


m 


WAnmfm. 


the wood, and disappeared under its shadows. Nl At ^ wM 
shortening the distance between the two when tney vaih 
ished. 

The mounted escort dashed across the park to the brief 
opening in the trees which would reveal the foremost two 
again as they passed. Ail was silence. The autumn^ 
leaves fluttered in the light wind, and then hushed them* 
selves to sleep. All eyes were bent eagerly upon the nar* 
row gleam of the sunlight through the forest opening. They 
came not. Expectation was too eager for a just measurement 
of distance. There must be patience. Another instant and 
Warwick seemed to clear the open space at a single bound 
and vanished. Where was the dark pursuer? At length 
he, too, swept by. The hunter was leaving him. Glory 
for Warwick's friends I The ladies urged their horses away 
over the park. Away they swept, a joyous cavalcade, to- 
wards the narrow Kil, upon whose banlrs they might see far 
away in air the racers cross the fairy bridge. Every 
woman’s heart was beating for Wai’wick. The gentlemen at 
the porter’s lodge streamed away over the park, hastening to 
the banks of the Kil, and looking away westward and up- 
ward. The bridge was silent and like a rope from cliff to 
clilF. The bald top of the fractured mountain was deserted. 
The racers were deep in the forest, urging their steeds like 
madmen. Vain struggles. The baron leads. He has 
awakened at last to the knowledge of his own unequalled 
power. He leaves everything farther and farther behind. 
At last he appeared from the belt of forest vaulting upward 
to the bridge. The park resounded with the wild cheers of 
exultation. “Night” emerged from the wood, and fear- 
fully behind. The dark steed had exerted his best and 
most wonderftil powers, but Warwick was leaving even the 
desert courser behind him. Vain hope now of success ; for 
the hunter’s acknowledged power had ever beou in his su- 
premacy to bring him out victor in a brush, at the run home. 
Not so decided the indomitable will that guided “ Night.” 
Calmly and hopefully he flew along, trusting m the mar- 
vellous endurance of the Kochlani blood. He craved Ih^ 
hand of that lovely girl before him with a yearning which 
no obstinacy could discourage, and^mo coolness freeze. 
What was his amazement to sec Warwick pause suddenly al. 
the edge of the bridge, rear, and plunge backwajd 1 " U« 
urged “ Night ” forward, and Warwick still refused (o urosu 


WAMWttX. 


Bit 

He shouted then as he gained ground^ “ Beautiful lady, yo« 
are mine ; remember your promise.” 

May Delano turned at that voice and looked backward. 
A spasm passed over her. She recognized that terrible voice 
which had her secret aversion. She exclaimed earnestly, 
“Never I never! Til die first. For God’s sake, Warwick, 
save me I ” She was a patrician, and her word was sacred as 
an altar. The glorious creature arched his neck proudly at 
her call. Cautiously he moved forward at her encouraging 
touch upon his neck, and passed slowly upon the bridge. 
Merciful heaven, what a bridge I The midnight gale had 
swept away planks, timber, everything save only a single 
stick of pine, which reached from cliff to cliff. "Upon this 
firm and steady timber Warwick was balancing himself and 
rider, who was sitting with closed eyes and features livid as 
a corpse. Surely and cautiously the noble beast made his 
way above a fearful death of rocks and roaring surf. The 
wind of the mountain gorge gushed up from the hidden 
depth, and a dizzy suggestion was in the silent motions of 
the hunter’s limbs beneath her. Balanced between the far- 
off earth and sky, she murmured the name of God. Every 
unoonfessed and hidden sin of thought and act was mani- 
fest. She had tempted God to save her honor, her word 
which was spotless and true as a star. The roar of the tor- 
rent beneath her was heard, and the jagged rocks were up- 
lifting their fatal fingers to mangle her. Unrecognized in 
her crushed and defaced humanity she would float away in 
blipod-flecked surges below. Hush ! the hoof of her faithful 
Warwick slips upon the timber. A gasp came over her; 
she was falling. The impotent arms of space are su{)- 
porting her. A shivering thrill has passed her, and all is 
over. Hark I a strange and novel ' sound beats upon the 
tympanum of her ear. The fall of horse’s hoofs sound no 
longer upon wood, but rock. She is saved I The glorious 
feet of her guardian have touched the opposite cliff An- 
other step, then a wild bound of joy upon the solid rorb 
The beast uttered a neigh of joy, and she opened her eyes 
upon life once more. With trembling limbs she sprang to 
the earth and kneeled to God. Then, uprising pale and 
eager, she clasped the mane of Warwick and kissed him, 
fobbing in gratitude upon his neck. 

“ O you wild Arab I ” — she called across the gorge bt 
<0 


m 


WAMWTOE, 


the horror-stricken master of “ Silvicola,'' — “ you don^t begin 
to know my Warwick yet.” 

“ Are you mad, Miss Delano ? ” 

“ Truly, Mr. Earle, I believe that must be your own pe* 
culiar emotion under the circumstances. It occurs to me 
that if ever a contestant was distarwed it is yourself. How 
far behind will your black beauty be when 1 win the reach- 
Ing-post?” 

“ My emotions are far different, Miss Delano, than you 
imagine. They are feelings of intense sorrow that I have 
lost your hand.” 

“Hal ha I Mr. Earle. I apprehend they are like the 
Cnidian onions of Theophrastus, mild, occasioning no tears. 
Ah! here come the rest of the gay cavalcade.- Oeaitlemen, 
I greet you. How lovely a place for a tete-d-tete I Mien ne 
rend la vie si douce que la societi et le commerce de nos amis** 

With this mocking farewell, she led Warwick up to a ledge 
of rocks, mounted to his back, waved her riding- whip 
towards the amazed group, and slowly made her way down 
the declivity. Some of the horsemen unfamiliar with the 
gorge dismounted and approached the fragment of the 
Wrecked bridge. They gazed downward into the abyss with 
a shudder. The very idea of that passage to the opposite 
cliff, even on foot, was a horror. They had all removed 
their dominos at the first suggestion of a barrier to the race. 
One glance revealed to the proud, fearless girl, that Con- 
stant Earle was not among the contestants for her hand . 
She rode away with her accustomed hauteur^ but her heart 
was full of anguish. Love has many devices. Her artifice 
failed to secure the success which crowned the stratagem of 
the quince flung at the feet of Cydippe. 


Cfjapter 

Tke Mndal tree perfamee, when riren, 

The axe that laid it low; 

Let man, who hopes to be forgiven, 

Forgive and bless his foe. 

Saiu. 

Wmsw Constant Eario realized from the sudden pause ia 
tile raoe that something had gene wrong with the bridge, ht 


WAMWICK. 


m 

seized the rein of “ Mad Bess,"* who was secured near the 
porter's lodge, and, in the characteristic impetuosity of his 
nature, waited for no fhrther interpretation of the mystery, 
but mounted and dashed out into the highway. He knew 
Miss Delano had been in peril and might need assistance. 
The fleet mare was allowed no respite in her flight till she 
had passed under the shadows of the Kil’s banks, entered 
the Tillage on the Hudson, and then galloped up to the sum- 
mit of the hill south of the town. He did not dream of the 
peril to which the fearless girl had been subjected. It was 
enough for him to know that she had been thrilled by dan- 
ger, perhaps unnerved. A generous nature flies^ to the as- 
sistance of the imperilled or the agitated without pausing to 
analyze the motives. He believed that he loved Nacoochee. 
He knew that he admired the mistress of “ Sublimity ” and her 
wonderful combination of beauty, intelligence, and spirit. 
He knew, too, that she was his friend. A secret and unde- 
flned magnetism gave them pleasure in each other’s society. 
But the constancy and integrity of his heart kept his thoughts 
so busily engaged upon the memory of The Evening Star, 
that he had little leisure to analyze his real sentiment for the 
heiress. He knew it would be unjust to the memory of the 
governess to enter the race for Miss Delano’s hand. And 
yet he could not conceal from himself his satisfaction when 
he discovered that Warwick was leaving every competitor 
behind him. 

The exultation of his spirit at her escape from all matri- 
monial entanglements induced him to make the rather un- 
expected declaration, when he met her issuing from her estate 
on to the highway : — 

“ I am delighted at your escape from the matrimonial net, 
Miss Delano. I feared once that you were lost when that black 
Arabian closed with you at the entrance of the wood. But 
what was the matter at the bridge ? Every one turned back 
but you, and you seemed to be walking your horse across.” 

She was amazed at this apparition. Was it possible, that, 
of all her friends, this man alone cared enough for her to 
hasten to her relief, — this loved object who would not compete 
for a hand she had been willing to give him? She was a 
woman to appreciate rapidity of kindness and oonsidera* 
tion. 

“ And are you the only one who has been thoughtftfl 
enough to fly to xuy assistanoe ? ” 


m 


WAxmvtt. 


I fein sore I don^t know, Miss Deiiino. I nevOT stopped 
to sec if any one was following me. Can I help yon? Yob 
look pale,” 

“ Oh, yon are so kind 1 and I am so faint, I can hardly 
keep my seat I Please help me to dismount for a moment. 
Is there no water near?” 

She was indeed overcome with excitement and peril. He 
assisted her to the ground. That elegant figure, clasped for 
an instant in his arms, thrilled every drop of blood in his 
body. She sat upon the bank by the roadside while he se- 
cured Warwick, and then rode away to the nearest house for 
water for her. She looked far away down the road. No 
equestrian was coming. He had been the only thoughtful 
one on the estate of “ Sublimity.” How fortunate after all 
that he had not joined in the contest ! That fleet Arabian 
unquestionably would have beaten everything but Warwick. 
She knew not the fact that Saad, the favorite servant, had 
been sent to Arabia by Montrose Earle for the single pur- 
pose of securing a horse that could outstrip her hunter. The 
indomitable will and perseverance of the lion hunter had 
been foiled by the matchless supremacy of Warwick. 

She sat alone by the wayside, faint and dizzy, waiting for 
him. How noble and lUoughtful was he ever, and so many 
cares and anxieties of his own to trouble him I Why had he not 
entered the race ? Could it have been that he had no horse 
in which he could place confidence ? Could he really have 
been indifferent to her ? Then why manifest such precipitate 
anxiety to come to her assistance before any of those who 
pretended to esteem her so highly ? A woman’s heart clings 
to many scattering straws before she sinks in the sea of 
silent despair. Ah, he was coming at last I Graceful 
and kingly as the Orphic sun-god, swijPt as the winged cup- 
bearer of Jove, bringing her wine and water. He dis- 
mounted and sat beside her. He learned the wonderful 
story of the shattered bridge, and that his brother had been 
the foremost contestant. Then be revealed to her the exist* 
cnce of a note that had been Jed to him by a servant 
Just before the commencement of the race. It bore the sig- 
nature of his brother, and, after an elaborate expression of 
sorrow at his conduct regarding the weight, had solicited 
pardon. Can a Christian refuse to paa-don even to the ex- 
tent of Recent V times seven? He had yieldoj again, and in 
porter ti Ickige petmt^d a note and despatched it, 


WAXWWM, 


n:A 

Ukd ftifly fbcgirlng the offences' of the p&^i, and promising 
to Teriiy the pardon by aec^pling the in vitHtioL to Silvicola^ 
before his return to the city. Miss Delano was ignorant of 
the estrangement consequent upon the terrific battle in the 
apartment of the Greek tutor. She now only learned that 
Constant Earle had been invited to “ Silvicola,” and had ao 
septed. 

“ Miss Delano,” said her companion at lengtli, “ I would 
like to make a request of you. It will inconvenience you 
little and will gratify me much. If you are willing to do mt 
a favor, without demanding explanations, I will solicit one.” 

“Ton have manifested such gentle consideration for me, 
Mr. Earle, that I volunteer to undertake anything in your 
behalf.” 

“ That is too generous. My request is apparently only a 
trifling one. I have a miniature of my mother, painted by a 
Greek artist. Will you bo kind enough to guard it for me, 
and return it to me when 1 call upon you in the city r ” 

“ Certainly ; but what a strange request I ” 

“ You said, Miss Delano, that you would do me the favo» 
without explanations I ” 

“ Indeed I will. But my nature is womanly after all. 
My exclamation was only an assertion of what you men de- 
nominate the peculiar gift of my sex. I will take posses- 
sion of your mother’s picture with pleasure. Have you it 
with you ? ” 

“ No ; it is too heavy to carry about with me. It Is In 
my room. The artist painted it on a brass weight, which is 
evidently very ancient^ and is mai’ked all over with hiero- 
glyphics.” 

“ Ah, something as unintelligible as the symbols on the 
adoratorios at Palenque, I suppose.” 

“ Equally mysterious, Miss Delano, and I must confess 
my cariosity to decipher them has lost me many an hour’s 
sleep.” 

“ What a confession I Then men have curiosity as well 
as women. Your candor Is commendable. But what is the 
particular dragon in the w ay of your research ? Ackei blad, 
Young, and ChampolUon have pioneeretl the mystic wilder- 
ness for you.” 

Want of books, authorities. This deficiency drives m<i 
nearly frantic. I imagine I have the despair of some mr 
yfy ing sage of the Chinese empire when Chi 


WAMWtCK, 


destroyed all the books and learned men. I am in a mors 
deplorable predicament than the sage ; for I have littU 
acquired knowledge to fall back upon.” 

“ But your paradise is just before you then, Mr. Earle. 
Tour brother has an admirable library of everything on an- 
tiquity. I have scamied the backs and titles of many rare 
works there, which I should like to be able to understand. 
He has placed above his collection the Greek inscription 
which was on the gates of the Ptolemgsan library, and which 
signifies, he said, ‘ the physic of the soul.' ” 

“ That is what I need, Miss Delano, and in the old-fash- 
ioned allopathic doses.” 

“ Well, there you will find everything. I use the word in 
its comparative sense. It is particularly rich in rare antique 
volumes. But to what particular epoch is your research 
directed? I took notes of some titles in your brother's 
library, and I may recollect, even now, some of the unfamil- 
iar names.” 

“ This is my difficulty. Miss Delano. Plato is the author- 
ity for the statement that Solon, who was remotely connected 
with him, was engaged at the time of his death in the com- 
position of a great poem illustrating the prosperity of Attica 
before the Ogygian flood, which Varro places one thousand 
six hundred years before the first Olympiad, that is, twenty- 
seven years later than the deluge according to the Hebrew 
text. The fragments of this poem, or the materials for its 
composition, fell into the hands of Plato. They celebrated 
the wars which the State of Attica waged with the inhab- 
itants of Atlantis before the deluge. Ogyges, first King of 
Athens and Thebes, was the only man who escaped this 
flood. Solon's knowledge was derived from the learned 
priests of Egypt, whom he visited. 1 assume that this 
Atlantis was the American continent and its adjacent 
islands. Carli and others sustain my premises. My object 
is to strengthen my position by an examination of the ear- 
liest traditions of antiquity. I must inspect the Zend- 
Avesta, the Schah-Nameh, the Ramayana, and the Mahab- 
harata. These two last are epic poems, giving the religion, 
civilization, and customs of ancient Hindus. Even tha 
Megha Duta and the Sakuntala, which Wilson made familiar 
to English scholars, might aid me. I have tlie nerve to 
probe the varieties of the Sanscritoid, the Arabized Pracritoid, 
Slid the Dravidiisii languages, fr only they may yield 


W^MWSCSL. 


%U 


tuA p«rtiii€iifc to my purpose. I ivould Ifke to study the 
i^endaiy tales of the Puranas, also the Greek Tbeogoniea. 
The Chiiu^e annals claim that their empire is the most 
ancient in the world, and that their first King Fo-hl wai 
Noah himself. It becomes necessary, therefore, for me to 
study those annals in Du Haiders History of China. I would 
like to consult the Choitr-king of Confucius. Even the Ma- 
havansi, ‘ the Genesia * of the Buddhists, might cast light 
upon this antiquarian path. I am seeking every clue and 
suggestion regarding the antediluvial nations. 1 have be- 
come impressed with the suspicion that my hieroglyphic* 
refer to that remote and hazy period of traditional his- 
tory.” 

“ You will find In your brothers library some of thoss 
titles ; but 1 airprehend. Mr. Earle, you have undertaken a 
problem which even Archimedes could not have solved.” 

“ I am aware, Miss Delano, that I have not even learned 
so much as the Accidence, but while there is life there Is 
hope.” 

“Your chance of Interpreting those ancient symbols Is 
about equal to the probability of your being struck by light* 
ning.” 

“Happy suggestion, Miss Delano! Many ancients and— 
Orientals esteemed those who were struck by lightning as 
sacred persons, the especial favorites of Heaven. I must 
confess my antecedents are far from favoring the idea that I 
am in that happy band, but literary lightning must strike 
some Champollions, and I intend to cling to every literary 
lightning-rod within my reach.” 

“ But how can you find time for such research amid your 
labors as an author ? You are writing another book, I hear.” 

“ One research, Miss Delano, sometimes helps another. 
My new book deals in many references to the past. A man 
who seeks for diamonds may find gold and silver for daily 
use, and secure them as ho gropes along.” 

“ Which do you consider the gold and silver? ” 

“ My historical references for the enrichment of my man* 
nscript.” 

“ How singular that you should undervalue that which is 
certain to win you fame and money, and esteem as your 
diamonds that which Is almost purely visionary I ” 

“ No author is certain of success. Miss Delano. Pegasus 
uo^ riders than he bears to the stars ” 


m 


WAJtwwi:, 


‘‘ He unseats no nder like you, Mr. Earle, whose sublimitj 
and activity remind me of Pindar. Like ‘ the sacerdot^ 
poet of Greece,* you delight to robe virtue in glorious and 
vivid colors. You will not be allowed by the noble and the 
pure to grope forever in the dark and cheerless region of 
Erebus.” 

“ How kind and generous are the encouraging words of fl 
woman lilce you I The memory of this moment and your 
commendation will lighten the burden and solitude of mid- 
night toil.” 

“ What avails my encouragement when the fairest and 
loveliest of gifted women commend you ? ** 

“ I never hear them. A few of your friends at ‘ Sublimity ' 
speak kindly of my books. But who of them has ever 
said to me, ‘ I appreciate your aim in beautifying virtue, 
when flower-crowned vice is so popular ’ ? ** 

“ And that is the laurel 5^ou crave, Mr. Earle? ” 

“ Ay ; that I do. The support you have given mein this 
regard is sweeter and more grateful to me than the vindica- 
tory oration of Cicero reaching the ears of the poet Archias. 
The regard of a true woman can sustain the steps of many 
who otherwise would falter. I have seen a strong man 
saved from falling by clinging to the tendrils of a flower on 
the side of the dizzy Alps.** 

“The Peripatetics styled woman animal occasionatum. 
They have manifestly not converted you.** 

“ No, I hold with Calderon, that ‘ woman is an epitome 
of heaven.* But drink more of tliat wine. You require it. 
You are still quite pale.” 

“ No more, I thank you. I have revived ; thanks to you. 
I believe I should have fallen from ray horse in another mo- 
ment.*’ 

How his interest deepened in that fair girl, day by day ! 
Never had he known one act unrefined, one word that made 
his sensitive nature shudder. Her voice, sweet and power- 
ful in song as the notes of Canens, in conversation uttered 
language chaste and elegant. She attached every one to 
her, and he was not proof against her spell. Satisfied in hif 
own mind that he loved the lost Nacoochce, he nevcrthelesi 
found wonderful fascination in the society and language of 
the heiress. 

“ I regret to leave ‘ Sublimity,* and you. Miss Delano,** he 
eaid, after a moment’s silence. “ Tins visit has been a dream 


WJLMmCX. 


$57 


k> me. There have been no unpleasant words or acts on the 
part of any one. Kindness, gentleness, mirth, have been 
the peculiarities of ‘ Sublimity.* I know not that I shall evei 
again in life be so happy as I have been here. I cannot de* 
fine the spell which is so soon to be broken. I only know 
that I leave in sadness and go forth to a hard, cruel, stern lifo< 
struggle.** 

He paused, and in silence looked away to the hazy belt 
girding the mountains across the river. The heart of his 
companion seemed to cease its pulsations as she listened. 
Her riding-whip paused too, in its careless play with the au- 
tumnal leaves which were scattered about her. Did he love 
her after all? Finding that he remained silent, she said, 
gently : — 

“ You will be missed by every one at ‘ Sublimity.* You 
have made friends here whose regard will never die. As for 
myself, expressions of esteem are painful. I would rather 
do or receive one such act of considerate kindness as you 
have shown to me this morning than to express in words a 
myriad regards, or receive such in return. And yet I must 
acknowledge that I, too, am sad at the idea of parting. But 
there is pleasure mingled with the regret. We shall soon 
meet again in the city. You have honored me with a trust, 
a mother*s picture. You will come for it soon, and then the 
memory of our pleasant companionship here will be revived 
in our converse there.** 

“ Indeed I shall call upon you very soon in the city. But, 
Miss Delano, there is an unusual degree of intensity Ia my 
sadness at this last quiet interview, at what is really our 
last parting. 1 cannot define my emotion, for it is so 
rare — ** 

At this instant they were interrupted. Wholly absorbeil 
In the present, they had failed to look towards the village, 
and two horseman were upon them before they were aware of 
any presence in the neighborhood. Mr. Lagrange and an- 
other unsuccessful contestant had made their way through 
the pathless wood, cleared the division fence, crossed the 
park, and hastened down the Sorrow Kil in search of the soli- 
tary mistress of Warwick. A keen dart of disappointment 
crossed her heart. What had been that emotion so nearly 
spoken ? It was lost to her in the clatter of hoofs, the ex- 
clamations of congratulation and praise at her escape, merry 
jests, and general hilarity. The two unsmocessfUl competl 


m 


iTAMWKm, 


!»rs appeared not to take seriously to heart their loss of u 
hand and a great estate. If they felt keenly they were mas- 
ters of the art of concealment. Miss Delano was speedily 
assisted to mount, and the four rode away slowly towards 
“ Sublimity.” But as they moved along the heiress noticed 
that Constant Earle participated seldom in the-Conversation. 
He was evidently distrait. How ardently she hoped his 
maunef was due to the same disappointment that had 
covered her own heart with a cloud ! At length conscious 
that his silence must occasion strange surmises, after such a 
marked Ute-d-tete^ his manner relaxed and he became ae 
merry and loquacious as any of the party. 

Upon their arrival finally at ^Sublimity” a wild greeting 
awaited them. There was a crowd outside of the gate, 
who cheered them, and a more elegant assemblage just 
within the park, who took up the cry. But when the gate 
was flung open and Warwick dashed in with his long blue 
ribbon fluttering in the wind, and as intact as when it had 
been attached to his bit, cheers sounded on every side, and 
from the distant piazza of the mansion handkerchiefs were 
waved and claj>ping of liands was heard. 

“ Ah, ye beautiful divil I ” exclaimed Mike, running along 
beside Warwick. “ YeVe as much sinse as ye have speed. 
Bad luck to the hull pack that was afeerd to cross thegoolf I 
Shure, in the ould country the fox-hunters wud have laped it 
afore they’d have lost so beautifUl a fox as Miss Dillano, an* 
may the Lord presarve ye. Miss Dillano, from any mate that’s 
afeered to ride wid ye.” 

On through the maple avenues bounded Miss Delano 
and her escort, horsemen and horsewomen joining her from 
every part, and by the time Warwick had reached the piazza 
she was honored with a train of retainers worthy of a duch- 
ess. She dismounted, passed up the lawn to the gallery, and 
paused beside Mrs. Deming. That feeble friend held out 
her hand. Tears of joy and excitement were in her eyes. 

^ I fancied when I was a girl. May, I could ride, but, bless 
me, I never saw such leaps as that superb creature made ; my 
heart followed him even when he had vanished. You must 
have taken lessons from Semiramis. I fear some day you 
may like her become a dove and fly away sure enough.” 

The whole cavalcade were now dismounted, and soon all 
of the guests and the unsuccessful competitors were collected 
upon the lawn and the gallery. Every one was invited to a 


iTAMwrm. 


85S 


imnqnet that evening, and at the entertainment len disap* 
pointed bridegrooms were forced to smile at pleasantries at 
their expense. 

“ May,” whispered Miss Deming once during the evening, 
“ don’t you think Constant Earle foncies me ? ” 

“How should I know, Carrie? He appears to be very 
general in his attentions. But why do you ask ? ” 

“ Because he wouldn’t ride for your hand. I was sure of 
him if you couldn’t interest him. May.” 

Non sequitur, my dear child. With men nothing is cer- 
tain until they have avowed their intentions. My idea is 
that Mr. Earle is so truthful and straightforward a person 
that no woman can for an instant fanc}^ she has his heart 
until he plainly manifests it by wprd or action. He appears 
to me like a man so absorbed in the study of the beautiful 
for his books that love has not yet had an opportunity to 
plant an arrow in him.” 

“ O May, I heard Mary LeClair tell Mr. Montrose 
Earle, just now, that your exploit at the bridge was perfectly 
foolhardy.” 

“ Mary LeClair, for that remark, has my endortsement that 
'she is a sensible woman. I agree with her perfectly. The 
whole affair originated in your bringing Mr. Lagrange up to 
me in the pai*k with his challenge.” 

“ I intended no harm by it.” 

“ Certainly not, my dear Carrie* The fault was mine in 
accepting such wild terms for a race. But I wisn you could 
have witnessed the blank amazement on my pursuer’s face 
when he looked across at Warwick and saw me "kissing the dear 
oreutore. It reminded me ot' stony with th» 

part of the fox omiHpd.” 


WAjiinc*. 


Cfjapttr 

TIm b«Ul« of Belief a/i^inst Unbelief is the nerer-endinf battled 

CAMbTU. 

Tii midnight — round the lamp, which o’er 
The chamber sheds its ionely beam, 

Is widely spread the varied loro 
Whieh feeds in youth our feverish dream. 

BuLwaa. 

Thk author of Polymnia sat thoughtful in his chair, lie 
^ras revelling in the paradise of a litterateur. His arm-chair 
was a dream of luxury and ease. JL table of carved walnut 
beside him was covered with opea !»oks and writing materi- 
als of the most exquisite pattera. Standard lexicons in 
many languages, grammars, gloeK^ogies, glossaries, every 
aid to careful research and study w«re scattered about him ; 
and over the book which he hela ^ his hand an astral lamp 
shed its soft, pleasant rays. Thc^stic devices traced amid 
the stars on the globe of the laoB^ adicated familiarity with 
the symbols of the Magi. Frim ©very wall the venerable 
tomes of antiquity and the more §R^ful volumes of modern 
science looked down upon him. brother’s library was 
unequalled on the continent ^ any private collection. 
Every astronomical hint from ^4axu8 to Mitchell, every 
astrological theory from Zoroaster ^ Morin, the adviser of 
Cardinal Eichelieu, found shelter ^ “fte carved walnut cases. 
Even the Zodiacal Physiognomy Varleywas there. On 
adjustable stands near to his left were the ancient geog- 
raphers. He was confronted by S^bo, the defender of the 
geogi-aphy of Homer. This savRtit, fifty-four years Bv C., 
maintained the globular form oi t&e earth, and to the great 
Joy of the thoughtful student indicated the existence of 
Atlantis, Amiirica, Solon, according to the student’s prem- 
ises, 697 years B. C., standing in miniature upon the brass 
weight, had pointed in common with the Egyptian priests, 
Psenophis and Senchis, to the same Atlantic Isle ; “ beyond 
which was a great continent,” said the three through the 
speaking-trumpet of history to the learned and thoughtful. 
He had scanned the me^re records of llecateus and of 
Dicsearcbus, 289 years B. C., and found no clue. HerodotuB 


WARWICK 


Ml 

A little more than one hundred years after Solon*a day, had 
combated his contemporaries who held firmly to the spher- 
icity of the earth. Here was a stumbling-block. Constant 
Esu'le deemed him a blockhead in his geographical char- 
acter. This authority must be quenched by more careful and 
ancient geographers. Eudoxus, it was true, 370 years B. C., 
had the honor of bringing the celestial sphere and the regu- 
lar astronomy from Egypt to Greece. But this fact was too 
late for the premises that Solon learned from his Egyptian 
Tisit the sphericity of the earth. Was there no earlier knowl- 
edge of this globular form to sustain his premises ? He had 
studied patiently and thorouglily. A light beamed upon his 
research. Six hwndred and ten years before Christ an older 
sage than Solon, Anaximander, maintained that the earth 
MXM a globe; that the sun was twenty-eight times larger than 
the earth ; that the stars were globular and revolved in their 
reroective spheres. 

The student laid aside his book for a moment. He had 
assumed the intelligence of antiquity. That intelligence 
was an established fact. The popular impression that Co- 
lumbus discovered the globular form of the earth was hurled 
from its citadel. More than two thousand years before the 
birth of Columbus the more intelligent savans of antiquity 
knew of the sphericity of the earth. Had any of the wise 
men before the Christian era been known to labor for the 
practical benefit of their race upon this globular base? 
More intense application to the tomes about him yielded him 
light upon this inquiry. Two hundred and seventy-six years 
B. C. Eratosthenes measured the circumference of the earth. 
Aristotle, three hundred and eighty-four years before the Chris- 
tian era, advised his countrymen to seek India by a Western 
passage. Now came the inquiry, naturally enough, Was not 
Solon more likely, at a period twenty-five hundred years ago, to 
be possessed of more geographical and astronomical facts re- 
lating to the islands and continents of his day than we can 
possibly know him to have been possessed of when immense 
public libraries have been swept away by fire and war and 
the vindictiveness of men? If Anaximander before him 
knew the sphericity of the earth and the stars, which items 
of science have trickled down to us through the saDd** 
buried empires, is it not probable that he and his contempo- 
raries possessed a fund of wonderful knowledge in ever) 
di^partment of science and every school of art? If tiwenty' 
M 


PTAnWICK* 


ses 

five hundred years from to-day a strange race shall disco vei 
upon the American continent a book which establishes the 
wonderftil application of electricity to telegraphic purposes 
by Morse, will not that future race be justified in conceiving 
that Morse was possessed of a rare fund of knowledge in 
other departments of electricity, geography, astronomy, and 
general science ?. Assuming this principle of estimating the 
acquirements of the ancients to be just, why may not Solon, 
when he learned of the existence of the Atlantic Isle, have 
learned the habits, laws, temples, physiognomies, and wars 
of its inhabitants ? Did Solon know nothing but the mere 
name of Atlantis ? Did the Morse, who died twenty-five hun- 
dred years ago, in the nineteenth century, know nothing of 
electricity except that it could be applied to telegraphing as 
was handed down through the civil tumults of ages ? 

The student studied long, and decided at last to persevere 
in the belief that Solon and the Egyptian savans knew of 
the continent and the races in America. That knowledge 
was concentrated, he doubted not, in the brazen antique. 
Leaving, then, the ancients for a time, he crossed in thought 
the Atlantic and resumed the study of the lost nationalities 
of America. Who had inhabited the Western Hemisphere? 
How far back in the shadowy ages could nationalities be 
traced ? He studied carefully the wonderM earth-works on 
the banks of the Little Miami. The line of circumvallation 
of one fort extended the remarkable distance of four miles, 
and varied in height, according to the natural advantages of 
the ground, from ten to twenty feet. In Wisconsin, Ohio, 
and Iowa huge earth-works have been examined scientifically, 
which bear the outlines of men and animals, forming immense 
basso-relievos. Squire and Davis, in 1846, surveyed in Ohio 
sn apparent earth-work constructed in the form of a serpent, 
more than one thousand feet in length, gracefully curved, and 
terminating in a triple coil at the tail. The embankment 
was then about five feet in height by thirty feet base at the 
centre of the serpent, and then diminishing properly towards 
the head and tail. The mouth was wide open, with huge 
jaws ejecting or swallowing an earthen egg about four feet 
in height, ^th transverse and conjugate diameters of one 
buTidred and sixty and eighty feet. It is supposed to repre- 
sent the Oriental cosmological story of the serpent and the 
egg. ' In these and other Western States were found, in vast 
♦elegant carvings in «tonft frrr nfie and 


WAttmcK, U$ 

siiT^ ware, copper ware, and porphyry. Scientific men an* 
nocuK^ed their conviction that these wonders of the Missis- 
sippi Valley are, at least, two thousand years old. The 
traditions of the Indians uniformly declare that all these 
great earth-works were found here by their first ancpstors 
who came to the country. 

But suggestive as these ancient tumuli were of an Asiatic 
origin, the student was inevitably drawn in his studies to the 
central light further to the southward. There was a civiliza- 
tion more elegant and mature which had passed away before 
the Asiatic semi-civilized hordes had overwhelmed America. 
The Aztec civilization itself paled before the brilliant 
civilization of Palenque which had preceded it. The ele- 
gance of the Central American palaces and temples, and the 
many obvious resemblances to the symbolical worship of 
Eg 3 q)t, impress the careful student of both hemispheres. 
These resemblances had already been carefully traced by 
the author of Polymnia before he had gained admittance 
to his brother’s library. The examination of the terraced 
heights and tower of Santa Crutz Del Quiche, formerly occu- 
pied by the kings of Quich4 and Kachiquel, who claimed a 
descent from the Toltecan Indians, whose traditions affirm 
that they originally came to Central America under Tanub, 
who revolted from Moses in the wilderness, recalled an 
earlier nationality than Palenque Then he turned his at- 
tention to the wonderful monuments of Peru, at Tia Huanaco. 
Their antiquity is unquestionably immense. M. D’Orbigny, 
who carefully inspected them, pronounced them more ancient 
than the ruined temples of Palenque, and exhibiting a more 
advanced civilization. The debris form mounds nearly one 
hundred feet in height, enclosed by pillars of temples vary- 
ing in extent from six hundred to twelve hundred feet. The 
angular columns are colossal. There are porticos to these 
temples hewn from one solid mass of rock, and adorned with 
elegant carvings in relief. Some of the figures are symbols 
of the sun, and the condor, his messenger. There are found 
statues of basalt, the same rock as the famous Rosetta stone. 
These statues are covered with reliefs, “ in which the design 
of the carved head is half Egyptian,* Could Solon and the 
Egyptian priests have known of these people ? 

He turned to a volume of the great and cautious Hum- 
boldt and read thus: “What striking analogies exist 
between the monuments of the Old World and those of the 


m 




Tolteos. who, arriving on Mexican soil, built several ol" tboM 
colossal structures, truncated pyramids, divided by layers 
like the temple of Belus, at Babylon. Whence did they take 
the model of these edifices? Were they of the Mongol race? 
Did they descend from a common stock with the Chinese, the 
Hiong-Nu, and the Japanese? 

It is contended, by some, that the type of all artificial high 
places designed for sacred purposes is to be found in the 
tower of Babel, and that the Babylonian temples as well as 
^he pyramidal edifices of India and America were but tra-. 
ditional transcripts of the great structure on the plain of 
Shinar, the central point whence radiated all the families of 
the earth and the nation of every continent.” 

These suggestions of the great savant apropriately cover 
the Aztec and Central American sacrificial mounds, temple- 
crowned, and the lofty flight of rocky steps crested by the 
elegant sanctuary of Palenque. The traveller and savant 
Stephens, who examined the latter temple after his research- 
es in Egypt, Arabia Petraea, and the Holy Land, is unwill- 
ing to admit the resemblances to the temples and worship 
of Egypt. One reason of his hesitation is thus stated: 
“Columns are a distinguishing feature of Egj^ptian archi- 
tecture, grand and massive, and at this day towering above 
the sands, startling the wondering traveller in that myste- 
rious country. There is not a temple on the Nile without 
them ; and the reader will bear in mind that among the 
whole of these ruins not one column has been found.” 
Surely this objection cannot be urged against the temples of 
Peru at Tia Huanaco, where the columns are immense, and 
the dromos, the pronaos, and the adytum startlingly manifest, 
and the sculptures half Egyptian, Was it possible that 
Solon and his Egyptian instructors could have known, in ad- 
dition to their knowledge of the sphericity of the earth, of 
this contemporary American nationality? Was it contem- 
porary? Might it not have been similar to the Egyptian, 
and still older? Afirioa boasts a civilization older than that 
of Thebes. High up among the convergent streams which 
form the Nile were temples and hieroglyphics when Eg^q)! 
was an untamed wilderness. Meroe was the ancient nursery 
of Egyptian civilization and art. No doubt the friends of 
Solon on the Nile conversed with him upon their ancestry, 
and the architecture and religion of the far-oflf worshippers 
of Ammon. Wo^ild they not communicate* to the Grecian 


WAMWtCir, 


m 

UwgiTer the knowledge of that wonderfhl ship used in Mero« 
on the altar of Ammon, made of cedar and plated with 
gold? Strange symbol, that sacred ship, for a nationality 
who knew nought of navigation I Whence came the nation- 
ality and civilization of Meroe? The general supposition 
points to India. The name assuredly bears strong rcsexa« 
blance to Meros, the mountain of India sacred to Jupiter. 
Meru of Indian mythology is similar. The form of the 
pyramid in this ancient nursery of Egypt approaches that of 
the primeval mounds of the Old World and the sacrificial 
pyramids of Central America and Mexico. From the people 
of this ancient land no doubt the Egj^ptian priests derived 
the traditions regarding the Atlantic Isle which they com- 
municated to Solon. 

Eager now in his search he turned to the ancient Greek poet. 
The Arundelian marbles place Homer nine hundred and seven 
years B. C. What could the blind sage have signified by 
Ogygia, in the midst of the ocean, the island where dwelt 
Calj’^pso, the entertainer of Ulysses ? She was the daughter of 
Atlas, who, according to the Theogony of Hesiod, supported 
the heaven on his head and hands in the extreme west. The 
Atlas of Homer was not the personification of a mountain 
of Libya ; that was a later and corrupt rendering of the 
ancient legend. The poet conceived Ogygia to lie far away 
in the western sea, remote from all other coasts. Was not 
this a legend or tradition of the Atlantic Isle ? May not the 
continent beyond Ogygia have been that standing-place of 
Calypso’s father, where he held the heaven upon his head 
and hands ? The Homeric mythology assuredly locates the 
Elsyian fields on the western margin of the earth by Oceanus, 
the great river into which the sun appeared to sink at even- 
ing. What more perfect description could be conceived of 
tropical America than his picture of the Atlantides or Fortu- 
nate Islands? — 

** Stern winter imiles on that anspioioos dime; 

The fields are florid with unfading prime; 

From Uie bleak pole, no winds inclement blow. 

Mould the round hail, or flake the fleecy snow; 

But from the breezy deep the blessed inhale 
The fragrant murmurs of the western gale.” 

If the ancients, or the savans of the ancients, knew of tha 
Western Hemisphere, either as an inhabited land or as i 


866 


WAMWiCK, 


country inhabited at a remote antiquity, why had they ocMii 
cealed their knowledge in a weight of brass ? Why had th« 
trio of wise men masked their science or geography in hiero- 
glyphics? Might it not have been from anxiely to retain 
the secret among a chosen few? The student paused in his 
historical examination, and with his hand shaded his weary 
«ye3. Would it not be a triumph of scholarship to unravel 
that ancient mystery? Was there a human possibility of 
interpreting the symbols about the periphery of the brass? 
He must bend his energies now to that one object. A for- 
tunate solution of the problem might be of incalculable bene- 
fit to him. Why was his brother so frantic to gain posses- 
sion of the weight ? Could he already have interpreted the 
occult symbolism? Now or never he must make the effort. 
Books rich in the lore of every land were at his command. 
In a few days he must relinquish everything comfortable and 
convenient, and return to the drudgery of the law-office and 
his night labors upon his new book. Where should he turn 
first? What system of interpretation should he first adopt? 
Was the symbolism the hieroglyphic, the hieratic, or the 
demotic? Probably the hieratic, as that was peculiar to the 
priests of Egypt. This form of writing differs from the 
hieroglyphical principally in the more frequent substitution 
of alphabetic characters for pictured objects. He had a copy 
of his symbols in a card with him. He examined the char- 
acters minutely. He took from the bookcase works con- 
taining writings in the thyee forms. His symbols were most 
wofully unlike either. Clearly engraved in the brass, there 
was no mistaking their-Ibrmation. They were equilateral 
triangles, flowers, cones, clubs, zigzag lightning, simple 
crosses, spears, all well defined. Not one character resem- 
bled the hieratic in the book before him. What did that 
first character of all signify? It was an equilateral triangle. 
In Christianity it symbolized the Trinity. What was its 
meaning before the Christian era? Could it be intended to 
symbolize the union of the three wise men in the secret? 

This was possible. But an examination of the subsequent 
symbols induced him to discard this supposition. No sense 
resulted from such a construction. He must start anew. 
How anxiously, patiently, he strove to reconcile his symbols 
with the three forms of writing in the Egyptian tomes. Not 
a single spark of light beamed upon his investigation. Ideo- 
graphic and phonetographic (as is the entire system of Egyp 


WJULWrct, 


$i1 


ti&n mltiiig) threw him into fearful coiithsicm. Some rldie» 
lous sentences resulted from his efforts in this department. 
His iiist sentence as he worked it out, ran thus ; “ Clear 
off to bed.” He looked puzzled at first, and then laughed 
merrily. The sense of the comical was inherent in him and 
largely developed. He inaugurated another line of supposi- 
tions, assuming that each symbol was intended for the first 
letter of a word which denoted the symbol. Persistently he 
clung to this idea, toiled at it for an hour, and when his 
sentence was framed into English, read it aloud thus; 
“ What a bundle of stuffi ” Another merry laugh ensued. 
Could the writing be iconograpluc ? Were these figures pic- 
tnres of visible objects? That was unquestionably the 
original writing. It availed him nothing, however. All 
was a tangle, a puzzle, a worry, — finally a torment. He 
toiled away for hours. All was vanity and vexation of 
spirit. He tried every system of interpretation that hia 
brother's voluminous library afforded. lie discovered that 
the Devangari was originally written from right to left. 
That was an idea worth applying to his symbols. He re- 
wrote everything again, and read the sentences backward. 
The confusion and absurdity of words produced a remarka- 
ble result. He leaned back in his chair in utter desp^. 
The interpretation of hieroglyphics was no child^s play. 

Montrose Earle entered at this juncture in orange silk 
dressing-gown, smoking-cap with long tassel, and bearing 
his Persian caleeoon. He stretched himself upon a divan, 
after placing a box of cigars beside his brother, and then 
proceeded to envelop himself in a cloud of smoke. The 
author of Polymnia lighted a cigar and leaned back in his 
arm-chair. Such luxuries would soon be over, and he re- 
solved to make the most of them. 

“ I could easily snuff out my candle of life here, Mon 
trose. This treasury of books is too much for me. I nevei 
should know when to sleep and rest.” 

“ I should think not,” was the response from lips muffled 
in mouth-piece and smoke. “ The rosy fingers of Eos will 
•oon fling open the gates of day, according to the Homeric 
conceit, and astonish you.” 

“ Is that so? ” was the amazed ejaculation. “ I supposed 
it was only twelve o^clock.” 

“Yes; you have frittered away an entire night poring 
over musty tomes. Oai bonof** 


frAMWIfX’ 


m 

^ “I w»i anjdons to discover if the ancients knew of thi 
existence of America.” 

“ ril wager ♦ Silvicola * against that antique umbrella of 
grandfather’s, which your modesty prompted you to select 
out of the family relics I offered you, that the ancients knew 
no such thing.” 

“ Are you positive? ” 

“ Ko ; experience has taught me to be positive of nothing.” 
He resumed the mouth-piece, and enveloped this cynicism in 
a huge cloud of smoke. 

“ But your judgment is against this geographical knowl- 
edge of antiquity.” 

“You have said it.” 

“ Very good. Monsieur Montrose. We will In the face of 
this admission resume a fractured conversation. You did 
me the honor to remark once to-day that the apostles of 
Christ borrowed the fable of the incarnation from the creeds 
of Asia.” 

“ Very well,” replied the master of “ Silvicola.” 

“ You admitted that the universality of the tradition of 
the deluge rendered it highly probable that the world must 
one day have been completely submerged. You thought the 
coincidence of the traditions of the American Indians with 
all the traditions of the Eastern nations, conclusive evidence 
of the great antiquity and truth of the story of a universal 
deluge.” 

“ I did, sir.” 

“ Why, then, is not the coincidence of American tradition 
regarding the incarnation conclusive evidence also of the 
Immense antiquity and truth of that doctrine ? ” 

“ I should be strongly inclined to believe such a doctrine, 
if it had the sanction of both hemispheres in antiquity. But 
there never was an American tradition to that effect.” 

“ Softly, softly, brother mine. It is not scholarly to 
assert without examination. See how beautifully the doo- 
trine of the incarnation, revealed to Adam and Eve upon 
their fall, has escaped the ruin of the deluge, and floated 
down to us through the medium of the ark, that life-boat 
which heaved up and down upon the Ogygian flood, upon the 
Deucalion overflow, upon the ocean which submerged India 
and China and Scandinavia; that canoe which saved the 
ancestor of the American Indians. After the escape of 
Koah, when the primitive religion faded away and so manj^ 


WAMWHX* 


ses 

valuable traditions of science were shrouded in obscurity^ 
one primitive doctrine survived, flourished like an exquisite 
flower upon the rocks of polytheism, the universal belief in 
the y!:^n and the Messiah. Investigate the religious 
chronicles of all nations. You will find a virgin promised 
and her divine maternity predicted, or an actual occurrence. 
All theogonies shadow it forth. In Thibet, Japan, and a 
portion of India, the god Fo for the redemption of man was 
bom of the virgin Lhamoghiuprul, the fairest and holiest. 
The mother of the Chinese ‘ Son of Heaven,’ Hoang-Ti, 
conceived by a flash of lightning. The mother of Yao was 
a virgin, who conceived from the beam of a star. Yu was 
bora of a maiden whose chaste bosom received a pearl (the 
Tartar globe of light) which fell from heaven. Heou-Tsi 
was born of a virgin, in a deserted grotto where oxen and 
lambs warmed him with their breath. Sching-Mou, the 
great goddess of the Celestial Empire, conceived at the 
touch of a water-lily, and her son, reared under a fisherman’s 
roof, attained eminence and performed miracles. The god 
of Siam, Sommonokhodom, was born of a virgin made 
ftnitful by the sun’s rays. The virgin Maha-Mahai brought 
forth Buddha. Lao-Tseu was born of a black virgin, ‘ won- 
derful and fair as the jasper.* Isis of the Egyptians was a 
virgin mother. The Druids held that the future Saviour 
would be born of their Isis. The Brahmins hold that when 
a god assumes human flesh, the divine power causes the 
womb of a virgin to conceive. Jagrenat, the mutilcUed sa 
viour of men, and Crichna, born in a grotto and attended b> 
angels and shepherds, had each a virgin mother. The Ori- 
ental legend of the birth of the gieat prophet Zoroaster oi 
Zer, Ateucht, the silver washed^ aflSrma that upon the 
face of the Babylonian Dogdo, in a dream, a celestial light 
was cast, and she became fair as the day-star^ and brought 
forth the prophet of the Magi. Previously a glorious mes- 
senger from Oromazes had visited her, and presented mag- 
aiflcent robes. Abulfarages states that Zoroaster himself 
predicted to the Magi the birth of a Messiah born of a 
virgin ; that a new star would arise to guide them to him, 
and they must carry gifts to his birthplace. Sharistani, a 
Mussulman author, relates a similar tale of Zoroaster’s 
prophecy.” 

“ 1 am waiting, patiently, my fine theological savant for 
your American confirmation,” quietly remarked Moatross 


m 


fTAMtncai, 


Karie, remoTing ft*om hin lips the pipe-stem. 1 haie read 
^veral of your authorities myself. Give us the TTertmi 
Virgin and the Messiah. Moc opus^ hie labor est.** 

“ Patience, my fine arbiter elegantiarum. I must make my 
Eastern authorities cumulative. Then I will fire a shot which 
will startle your Voltairian school. The Oriental traditions 
avow that the virgin, notwithstanding the royal blood in her 
veins, was of obscure condition. The tyrant Nemroud was 
anxious to compass the death of the virgin’s son. Like 
Herod, he missed his prey. The child was bom in a poor 
stable ; he dwelt among the lower classes like the son of the 
Chinese goddess ; angels and shepherds came to him, as to 
Chrichna. Then he stilled the tempest, walked on the 
water, cast out demons, raised the dead, and mounted into 
heaven in the presence of five hundred disciples, whose 
dazzled eyes lost him in the clouds. Now for America. 
The Algonkin son of God, Manibozho, was born of a virgin 
mother. The Maceniques, who inhabit the shores of Lake 
Zarayas, in Paraguay, held this doctrine, — and here in one of 
your own volumes I have marked it for you, — that at a remote 
antiquity a virgin of rare beauty became a mother. Her 
son worked many extraordinary miracles, and one day arose 
into the sky, before his astonished disciples, and became the 
sun." 

The mng^froid of the savant vanished. He sprang to his 
feet in excitement, exclaiming, “ Show it to me.” His eyes 
ran over the statement. He flung back the leaves to the 
title-page. Dare he deny his own authority? He turned 
again to the statement and carefhlly perused it. 

Good God 1 he exclaimed ; is this possible ? Has there 
been a Redeemer of the souls of men, ooufimsed by tiie 
testimofiy of countless ages and peoples ? ” 

Ay 1 ” was the triumphant response beside him ; and 
this hour mother sits with him in heaven. She never 
doubted with her pure he«rt and her queenly intellect.” 

The savant sat absorbed in mmi^ excitsmeint. The start- 
ling eonflrmation of the West rang like a trumpet-peal of 
triumph to countless voices of the East The voice of the 
younger scholar resumed ; — 

“ What are Voltaire, Herbert, Chubb, Tindal, Morgan, 
beside such men as Grotlus, Stilllngfleet, Butler, Leland, 
Watson, and the terrific union of unoounted millions of in> 
telleois in every age and every clime? If there is oimi 


wAmwfm. 


Vf\ 

flodoas, nubllme, beaattfW idea AboT« aaother, e&loulatcd ta 
aroase and flra the enthusiasm of mortals, It is the reflection 
and the truth that the Son of God died to redeem us. I 
ironder not, nerer did, that the crusaders clung to the res- 
cue of that holy sepulchre. Adorable God I how inspiring 
and glorious to die in such a cause ; to fling away life in any 
Clime or any land that one soul might be saved for such a 
King or any item of his honor and glory 1 Mahomet even, 
overwhelmed by the grandeur of that Messiah and the splen- 
dor of his character, elevates him to the pedestal of one of 
tile six great prophets of his religion.” 

The listener stood in silence a moment, and then said 
sullenly : — 

“ Boulanger admits the universality of the expectation of 
a Messiah, but calls it a universal chimera.” 

“Ay, he did that. But your authority is unfortunate. 
He thought differently, happily for him, when he came to 
die.” 

“ But the Jews deny that he has come. The predictions 
of the Messiah, upon which Christians rely, are not inter- 
preted to suit them by the Rabbins. The decision turns 
upon the construction of words like achebet and achilo. 
They call achebet a rod, and not a aceptre. They deny that 
9chilo can be rendered messiah.” 

“ Certainementy monsieur y they do ; but their old books 
give them the lie. The Parap^ase of Onkeloa is against 
&em in the interpretation of achebet, ‘ Judas shall not be 
without a (achebet) y supreme ruler y nor without scribes 
of the sons of her children, till the Messiah come.’ The 
Jews venerate Jonathan, the first of the disciples of Hillel, 
almost as much as Moses. He translates achebet prin- 
cipality, and achiU) messiah. The Paraphrase of Jer- 
usalem is also against them. The most ancient, the most 
reliable, the most venerated commentaries of this unfw* 
tonate people are foes to their modern interpretations.” 

He spoke eagerly, cnthudiastically, in the cause of God, 
and his brother returned to the divan, saying, calmly, “ I 
must investigate this mattei fhrther. You carry too many 
guns for me to-night.” 

After a long silence, during which he had lain upon the 
divan enveloped in smoke and reverie, he arose and left tha 
room, saying : — 


WARWtOM. 




“ You havi better discontinue your flirtation with Cli<x 
and clear for the arms of Somnus, or your brain will not 
honor draftu lipoii it to-morrow, or rather to-day. I left a 
curious old book upon your dressing-table for you, which 
y^ou csn amuse yourself with. It is an antique, which you 
will never probably have an opportunity to read elsewhere 
in America. It contains the Oriental legends of the Ichthy- 
ophagi and the Chelanophagi. You will find some allusionf 
there also to Oromasdes and Ahrimanes. They maj 
strengthen /our theological position. J3on aoir / ” 


Cliajitex 

0 sleep, sweet sleep 1 

Whatever form thou tbkest, thou art fair, 

Holding onto oar lips thy goblet filled 
Oat of oblivion’s well, a h^ing draught t 

LoHCWSUiOW. 

When the author of Polymnia hal retired to his room for 
the night he was too nervous from ttudy and mental ex- 
citement to sleep. Flinging aside his coat, he donned a blue 
silk dressing-gown, which had been deposited upon a chair 
for him, and wandered about the apartment, examining its 
elegant appointments and the curiositieti which decorated it 
on every side. There was an exquisite cabinet of minerals 
and natural curiosities recalling the collections of Sloane. 
On the mantel-piece was an imitation of the ancient obelisk- 
shaped monument El-Ooted, and beside it was an antique 
ivory miniature of an Assyrian king from Mo.iul, holding aloft 
the Egyptain cfmx ansata, or emblem of the eternal life. 
How unerringly had that symbol of salvation haunted the 
nations from Adam to Christ I At his feet was crouching a 
sphinx. Empires had risen and crumbled through the ages, 
and the perfect preservation of the ivory king and sphinx 
mocked at their fallen grandeur. A small bijou of a cabinet 
above a writing-desk indicated the numismaticai science of 
the master of “ Silvicola.'’ From a study of this rare collection 
the eyes of Constant Earle wandered to a painting of a 
fearless and handsome rover of Sal4, and then to a striking 


iFAUmCK, 


m 

por fait of an aged savant of Morocco irrapped in his khir 
kehy and sitting in profound studj’^ over the Koran, his long, 
white beard sweeping the sacred volume, and a small lamp 
illumining his aged and rapt face. It recalled to the specta- 
tor vivid memories of that strange land where he had swept 
dreamily on his barb through orange and pomegranate 
groves, beside winding streams, and under the irregular, 
scattering oaks of North Africa, bounding up the gentle 
swellings of the ground where white buildings clustered, and 
the slender minarets of the mosques pierced the sky. He 
saw again the lofty, broken line of the Allasaba, the pic- 
turesque (jostumes of Jews and Bedouins, the Moorish 
gardens, riotous in their neglected luxuriance, the wild pear* 
trees and fig, the ruined castle of Dar Koresi, and the groves 
of exceeding loveliness on the banks of the Felifle and the 
Bu Nasr, where he had caught glimpses of that wonderfhl 
beauty of the Arab maids which fades with Oriental rapidity. 
The pictue of the Mussulman savant revived these scenes, 
when he was a favorite son of afi3^uent parents, and struggles 
and poverty were myths, when he could rove in many lands, 
culling their beauties for his mental museum, and free and 
merry as the Celtic thrush. No wonder he recognized the 
vividness and impressive dignity of the Eastern scholar, 
and the exclamation of that wizard land escaped him, 
“TFaWoA/ taibi taib keterT* — “Excellent, by heavens! 
most excellent I ** 

Another and more beautiful spur to memory met his eye 
as he moved along. It was a'full-length portrait of a Bedouin 
maid of Morocco, a figure small and exquisitely fashioned, 
the hand and foot diminutive. She was in the 'budding and 
blooming time of maidenhood, extraordinarily gifted with 
sensuous beauty, and with the wdnning innocence and purity 
of face which characterize a child. The face was oval, the 
mouth a sculptor’s dream, the chin full and round. The eye^ 
were large, dark, and full of impassioned feeling. Only the 
cultivated intelligence of modern civilization was wanting. 
But she was in keeping with the thickets of pink oleander, 
the oderiferous blossoming shrubs, the innumerable wild flow- 
ers, the white narcissus, the myrtle, the arbutus, and the 
luxuriant orange groves of her native land, whose skies are 
gemmed with stars large, liquid, and luminous as thos« 
that met the uplifted eyes of the tril>e of Issachar, the pas* 
tctfal astronomers who followed the fortanss of Mosss* 
If 


$74 


WJMWmr. 


strange that tbls.beantiftil wanderer over AMcan plains and 
sunny hill-sides should recall the sweetness and loneliness of 
the brilliant Nacoochee, The Evening Star. But so wrapt 
was his poetic heart in the memory of his Spanish scholar 
that eneiy beauty animate or inanimate suggested her. In 
daily reveries she stood beside him, with her genius eyes 
bent tenderly upon him and in night-dreams she arose 
upon the dark horizon, the earliest and most luminous star. 
He oould not forget her. She haunted him ; his heart grew 
weary and sick from her long silence ; that she heeded him 
not, noticed not his search for her, influenced not his regard. 
She would ever be the dream, the yearning, the wild, impas- 
sioned love of his life. He stood then before this beautifhl 
maid of Morocco, and smiled at her beauty, because Nacoo 
chee, too, was a woman. -The Evening Star came to him nd 
more. Hence he worshipped all beautiful objects for her sake. 
Every epithet of beauty or power came at times to his lips. 
“Ah, Nacoochee,” he murmured, as the beauty of the 
Bedouin maid grew upon him, “ thou art fair as Rachel, pru- 
dent as Abigail, heroic as Esther, chaste as Susannah, fear- 
less as the lily-crowned Judith. Not all the cedar of Leb- 
anon, the perfumes of Saba, the silver-laden fleets of Tyre, 
or the gold of Ophir, can buy my heart from the memory of 
thee.” No Isiac devotee, no Dionysian enthusiast, ever clung 
more zealously^to the shrine of their deities than his foithftd 
heart to the lost governess. 

He wandered on again through his sumptuous apartment 
pausing to study once a sketch of an Arabian douar made 
by Montrose Earle between Tangiers and Tetuan. There 
were some forty dusky tents arranged in a crescent, with the 
horns pointing to the East. The Bedouins were absent with 
the flocks and herds, and the women were busily at work. 
On the east side a part of the canvas of each tent was 
raised by a cord and flung back on the roof. A splendid 
gray barb was in the foreground, unfettered and moving 
across the plain at his leisure, en grand $eigneur. In the 
distance was a view of the Atlas mountains, cloud-capped, 
and on the lower ranges clad with sunshine. There was a 
rocky defile at the left, where, near a copse of palmeta, sat an 
Axeh, with swarthy visage, and matchlock and spear beside 
him. The artist Jiad found him in a flowing bernouse, and 
sketched even his dagger-hilt. These nomads select theii 


fTJMWSCX. 


camping-ground ever with an artist’s eyes to picturesque 
effect. 

Unfortunately for the weary student he espied a choice 
library of boo^ at the remote end of his room. What 
scholar ever is contented with a passing glance at new and 
curious tomes? That glance invariably steals precious 
moments from necessary sleep. He open^ the doors of the 
'jase for a look at one title-page, and before he left had 
scanned twenty. A few pages of Palladio’s Antiquities of 
Rome were culled and stored in memory, and then “ Tales of 
the Ramad'han ” were slightly skimmed. The Paranas then 
yielded a brief tribute to the scholar of cosmogony and the 
ancient sciences, and an addition to his knowledge of the 
genealogy of the Hindoo gods. A gleaming of mingled fables 
and moral principles was next taken from Pantra Tantra, 
The Institutes of Menu gave him glimpses of civil and relig- 
ious law. Bhagarat Gheeta could not be laid quickly aside 
when it revealed such sublime ideas of the deity among the 
idolaters as this. “Being immaterial, he is above all concep- 
tion : being invisible, he can have no form : from what we 
behold in his works we may conclude that he is eternal, 
omnipotent, knowing all things, and present everywhere. 
God is one centre of all that is. God is like a perfect sphere, 
without beginning or end.” 

He was so weary at length that he closed the bookcase, 
and walked away towards his dressing-table. The penalty 
of excessive study was throbbing again in the crown of his 
head. Unfortunate scholar 1 there lay the volume of which 
his brother had spoken. Should he be prudent and leave 
it until he had slept ? One glimpse could do no harm. That 
last hasty glimpse has many a time laid scholars in their 
graves, or confined them behind the bars of a mad-house. 
Li this instance that concluding glimpse yielded him sleep j 
but so deep that the thunders of Jove doubly charged with 
sound oould not awake him. The leaves were drugged by 
one who was skilled in the magic art and science of poisons 
as Circe. It was not a fatal exhalation from the book, only 
a powerful narcotic of long duration if not arrested by the 
the antidote. A student absorbed in the acquisition of facta 
would never notice that faint, impalpable efiluvium which’ 
slowly, gently undermined his senses and placed him abso- 
lutely within the physical power of another. That book 
had been suggested to the younger brother by that indonir 


WAMmCX. 


mi 

table will which never faltered in a purpose. That btaoi 
weight must change ownership, and that right speedily. 
Ha! ha! a Christian who forgives and pardons seventy 
times seven does not necessarily stultify himself. Christian- 
ity is not a sjmonyme for folly. “Be ye wise as serpents 
and harmless as doves.” The gift of the Greek was s^Te in 
fair and honorable hands. Slowly and thoughtfully the 
student turned over the leaves till he reached the matters 
which Montrose had mentioned. He studied the theories of the 
good and the evil principle which governed the universe of 
the Magi. Slowly and surely the exhalation from the leaves 
performed its narcotic mission. He was growing drowsy. 
“ How fortunate I ” he thought to himself ; “ soon I shall be 
able to sleep, and this terrible pain in my brain will pass 
away.” Some Oriental allusion surprised him, and he turned 
again to the title-page of the book. What had that subject 
to do under such a title ? Fortunate retrograde movement 
for his fate I Something in the antique lettering of the title 
attracted his attention. There were minute images within 
each letter. He had not noticed them before. He held the 
book close to the lamp that he might examine them. As he 
did so the cover of the book approached so close to the flam- 
ing wick that it was nearly burned. The paper lining of the 
cover was slightly scorched. He withdrew it quickly from 
danger, and, to his amazement, discovered that there was 
writing upon the blank cover which had not been there be- 
fore. He was perfectly confident of the fact. He had looked 
upon opening the book for the first time at his brother’s 
name. It was the only writing upon that blank page. He 
was willing to swear to it. JNow new writing had mysteri- 
ously and suddenly manifested itself close beside the tiny 
scorched spot. Had fire brought it out? He had heard of 
such phenomena. He held the blank page again to the 
light, bringing it as near as he dared. Other writing ap- 
peared in black letters. He developed sentences as the heat of 
the lamp warmed the page. How marvellous, and yet an old 
story ! Finally the heat of the lamp would evoke no more of 
the hidden chirography. It w^as his brother’s writing. 
There was no mistaking that. It read thus : — 

“ The hieroglyphics on the brass are unquestionably solved 
by studying the symbols of the gods and goddesses. ’Fh* 
next step must be the possession of the antique.” 

The eyes of Constant were rapidly growing dim 


WAMmCM. 


m 

Everything wAs ^stiining a hazy look. In the last momenta 
of his consciousness that wonderful announcement burned 
into his brain. Nothing would ever eradicate it. It had be 
come a part of the treasures in the storehouse of memory 
never to be forgotten. The wonderful discovery of Landauer, 
that the sesquichloride of iron and sodium will produce an 
invisible writing upon paper which will appear in black let- 
ters by the action of caloric, had revealed to the owner of the 
antique from Salamis a key for the interpretation of the 
symbols. He was rapidly sinking under the influence of the 
subtile narcotic ; his eyes were closed, the book had fallen 
upon the floor, his head reclined against the back of the 
chair into which he had dropped in his stupor. But the 
savant of “ Silvicola ” had overreached himself. An accident, 
resulting from his crafty programme, had wrested from hinc 
a wonderM sceptre, a power of which he faintly dreamed, 
but whose surpassing brilliancy and extent would have 
startled him like a heavenly bolt shattering at his feet. 
Presently he entered, and found the beautiful, graceful, noble 
grappler with poverty helplessly fallen and in his power. It 
never entered his cool, crafty head to examine the book. 
It had closed in its fall, and he locked it away in his iron 
safe in an adjoining room. Then he proceeded with his inspec- 
tion of his victim. Ho examined his pockets for the brass 
weight ; it was not there. No doubt it was in the miserable 
little trunk which held the poor author’s limited wardrobe. 
The younger brother was economizing like a Spartan. He 
had deposited the balance of the secret gift-money in bank, 
after providing generously for his sister, and paying his 
debts. That should be his refuge in case of sickness or 
prostration. He would cling to the lawyers’ office and their 
miserable compensation until his new book was completed. 
That anxious hour was not far remote. The struggle with a 
publisher was near at hand. There would be no assistance 
from his brother’s hand. The cool, determined master of 
“ Silvicola ” would yield no vantage gi-ound to the brother who 
so diligently and heroically thwarted him. 

Montrose Earle, finding that the coveted antique was not 
upon the person of the prostrate man, stood a moment in in« 
ipection of him. 

“ Beautiftil as Picus I ” he muttered, noting the fair, clear 
complexion of the drooping face. “ No wonder women love 
you. I would myself. O you noble, heroic fellow^ whj 


WAMmok. 


m 

hAve you clung so tenaciously to a promise ? Why have yoe 
throvm away comfort and a competence for a trifling biass^ 
of whose value you can know nothing ? Spartan, Christian, 
whatever you are that makes you so reliable and so strong ! 
I admire you. By Jove I I can’t help it. Brave as Julius 
Caesar, honorable as Bayard, just as Aristides, sternly up- 
right and discriminating towards your brother as Timoleon, 
how I honor your pluck, your tenacity of purpose, your liter- 
acy genius I Jupiter I you are too beautiful and manly for 
me to stand here and look upon you. You will undermine 
my purpose with your splendor.” 

He turned away to continue his search. Before' another 
half hour had elapsed he had lifted the fallen brother upon 
the elegant couch, held a phial of bright emerald-colored fluid 
to his nostrils, and when he was recovering from the mystic 
narcotic had left the apartment and glided noiselessly away, 
whispering savagely between his teeth, “ Baffled, but not 
longl I’ll follow him through the fiery river which flows 
over the danmed in the Jewish Hades, but I’ll have that 
brazen weight in my grip.” 

When Constant Earle awoke from his long sleep, and found 
himself stretched upon his bed with his clothes on, he fan- 
cied he had fallen there overcome by study and sleep, and 
thought no more of it. That sleep of exhaustion was no 
novelty to the struggling author. He arose and spread open 
the window-curtains, and gazed away over the woods and 
lawns where his childhood had dreamed itself away. A sharp 
frost of the past night had split open the last of the chestnut- 
burs, and on the crisp carpet of the fallen leaves he heard 
them drop one by one as the breeze rattled the branches. 
The home of his youth was rapidly growing desolate in the 
onward march of the autumn. Soon he must leave it, per- 
haps forever. The privilege of gazing once more upon the 
dear old spot had come to him unexpectedly. The great 
joys of life are of shoiii duration, and he must make the 
most of this glorious episode in his struggling fate. He was 
planning visits to the dear old haunts on the estate when a 
servant entered with a letter. He broke open the missive, 
and discovered that he was summoned to the city. He bad 
exceeded the time of his leave, and had received no response 
to his solicitation to be spared a few days longer from the 
law-offlee. The attorney who penned the note informed him 
that an application had been made for his humble situatioi 


W4»WKX, 


S7i 

la the office, and if he was not seen at his post in two dayrf 
time he would forfeit it. He must leave at once. He knew 
too well the difficulty of securing a situation in the metropo* 
lis. He sent the servant to inform his brother of his ex« 
pected departure, and then hastened away to the park cf 
“ Silvicola ” for a ramble before the hour for taking the traiii 
should arrive. Onward and without definite purpose he 
wandered, over the lawns, beside the streams which were 
covered with brown and scarlet leaves, and into the woody 
thickets where the gray squirrels were leaping in frolic from 
branch to branch, or laying in their winter store of nuts. A 
sad, dreamy reverie was upon him. How cruel and strange 
his fate that doomed him to wander as a stranger over the 
scenes of his happy youth without one claim or interest to 
bind him to the place I He felt like an outcast and a wan- 
derer more than ever before. The estate had been his pride. 
He was as ardently attached to the noble ancestral home as 
the noblesse of the Old World to their ancient estates. He 
found at last a spot in the wildwood where the stream was 
bare of leaves, and the leafless branches of the overarching 
trees cast their tangled shadows in the water. He stood 
silently contemplating the limpid creek, and dreaming — 
dreaming the moments away. He was startled from his 
meditation by a prolonged howl from the thicket near at 
hand. He awoke like a trooper to the summons of the bugle. 
He called loudly towards the undergrowth now wrapped 
again in silence. The call was answered. Something parted 
the bushes, eagerly bounding along, and a superb hound 
dashed into sight, and springing to bis side leaped frantically 
and joyfully upon him. The creature knew him notwith- 
standing the lapse of time. It was his old favorite, who had 
years ago followed him and his gun, and in his fox-hunts 
crossed the country “ with ears that sweep away the morn- 
ing dew.^* He stooped to caress his old friend, who still 
was able to utter the wild music of the woods. The creature 
loved him and followed him eagerly, hoping, no doubt, for 
tliat loved voice to put him once more upon the trail. But 
the «ad wrestler with fate was too absorbed in memories of 
human friends who had passed away forever, too Intent upon 
the life-battle before him to devote more of the fleeting hour 
^ the dog. He wandered on and on, revisiting every famil- 
iar spot, and watching the fantastic play of wind and sum 
shine upon the leafless trees, the mour^ul brook, and the 


m 


WAMWWtC, 


fallen leaves. He regained, after a great circuit, the man 
sion, and found his brother in surprise at his sudden purpose 
of departure. This soi-disant friend, this treacherous rela* 
tive, urged him to postpone his departure, hoping that plans 
might be arranged which should bring the weight agaji 
within his reach. Persuasion was futile with one who had 
resolutely concentrated his energies and will to win a name 
and independence for himself. His trunk was soon de- 
spatched to the station, and he followed it with his brother 
in the family carriage. He gave one farewell glance at the 
estate as he was whirled past the black monster who guarded 
the entrance. The Arab, who had assaulted him with the 
knife, had been wisely kept in the background. 


Cfjapter XIH. 

For indeed, whaterer be the outward form of the thing (bite of paper, m we 
■ay, and blaok ink), is it not verily, at bottom, the highest act of man’s fooalty 
that produces a book T It is the Theught of man, the true thaumatorgio rirtue 
by which man works all things whatsoever. 

Oawutui. 

“ Many works,” says Cliamfort, “ succeed, because the 
mediocrity of the author’s ideas exactly corresponds with 
the mediocrity of ideas on the part of the public.” Constant 
Earle, familiar as he was with this recondite assertion, wrote 
in defiance of it in the composition of his third book. As- 
suming that the religion of Christ announces no mediocre 
ideas, advances no theories that arc not consistent with the 
noblest and loftiest development, has promoted the welfare 
of men and nations, and is the only religious system that can 
render a nationality sublime, he wove about his leading 
characters the pure and chaste livery of the Man-God. 
liinked as the dramatis inrsoniB were with the political and 
social .agitations of his day, he exhibited them ever speaking, 
writing, acting from Christian principle. He had traversed 
the atheist gathering-places, he was familiar with their ver- 
nacular, he pitied tlieir blindness with a sublime pity, he 
fidmitted generously their criticism of the shortcomings of 
those who wore the NjLgarene livery ; but with the Iron 


WAMWKm, 


m 


of Mcnelaus he grappled the protean shape of infidelity til! 
it reluctantly confessed the splendor of the Christian’s Grod. 
He fortified his hero for the stern battle with scepticism by 
every historical, geological, and metaphysical research that 
was open to him. Inch by inch he disputed every foot of 
ground with the intellectual hydra. He demonstrated that 
the instinct of faith in God is a counterpart of the instinct 
of faith in the sciences. The testimony of authority must 
be received, always has been received, always will be re- 
ceived, in both religion and society. Without deference to 
authority in science, the affairs of every-day life would be 
inextricably confused and ridiculous. Men who have not the 
time and opportunities will and wisely trust the testimony 
of Newton and Descartes. It is as truly a characteristic of 
human nature to trust as to reason. Wisdom holds her 
serene way between the two. Not one man in ten thousand 
has the time or opportunity to measure the distances between 
the planets and the earth, and still the infidel, who firmly be- 
lieves the astronomer, will not credit the stronger, because a 
million times more cumulative, evidence, of the miracles of 
Christ. Human nature will respect learned and scientific 
authority. Descartes dethroned Aristotle. Then men rec- 
ognized and deferred to the new king. Christianity de- 
mands no allegiance that is not founded on careful, mature 
examination, such as men devote to the ordinary and inter- 
esting affairs of life. Nine-tenths of the sneers of sceptics 
are simply silly, derived frcii their undoubting trust in the 
scientific or historical assertions of their teachers. 

Carefully pursuing his train of investigation, he demon- 
strated through the lips of his hero that the influence of 
Christianity, from the earliest ages to the present day, has 
been surely, persistently, prudently directed to the enfran- 
-ehisement of slaves. Probing the records of the states of 
antiquity, he pointed triumphantly to the fact that the in- 
dividuality of man was not recognized. It was everything 
to be a Greek — everything to be a Roman citizen. Stran- 
gers, alas, were nothing I Christianity gathered the strangers 
into the brotherhood of men, and crowned them sons of God. 
Buchanan assorts, and the world of scholars sustains him, 
that where Christianity does not prevail, there is a tendency 
to the degradation of w^men. Monogamy is the pure and 
exalted finit of the Christian tree. Montesquieu has asaei-ted 
thfkt republlca are savc^d by virtue, and Tnonarehies by honor. 


m 


rrjutwiaa:. 


A nobler and more perfect analysis of the motives that actuaUi 
men will demonstrate that Christian principle preserves the 
wise and orderly foundations of political society, no mattei 
how constituted. 

Remembering the earnest, pleading voice of the lost Na 
coochee, he attacked the false and pernicious matrimonial 
theories of the day. He arraigned the heresy of divorce with 
all the splendor of his native logic and the sublime purity 
and fire of his Christian soul. How universal is the truth 
that possession cloys and disgusts ! Beauty will fade, illu- 
sions will disappear, and man, still yielding to the fancies of 
his ideal nature or the deadly passion of his being, will seek 
elsewhere for happiness, instead of loyally, nobly, and hon- 
estly living and toiling for the ties which he has assumed. 
How earnestly and carefully he demonstrated in his convino- 
hag pages that man, unless bound by the stern law of the 
State, will be ever roving in his fancies, will be satisfied 
with no wife, and will become more readily disgusted with 
that which he may drop at any moment and under the 
slightest anger or other passion 1 In this connection he 
flung down the gauntlet to the defenders of fiction, whose 
sole power is derived from portraying the misery and unlaw- 
ftil and unchristian dissatisfaction of married persons. He 
maintained that the same principle which allows divorces for 
uncongeniality of disposition will logically authorize laws to 
free parents from the support and companionship of disobe- 
dient or uncongenial children, and to allow them to discard 
their own oflfepring and to adopt strangers. He held that 
to maintain pm-ity and integrity temptation must be with- 
held ; that tranquillity of soul is best secured by the law of 
the State withdrawing the occasion of wandering. Make 
divorce crime and men will not turn so readily towards It ; 
restrict it by the laws of G^, then Christians, at least, will 
have courage to withstand it. 

At last the careftilly wrought novel was completed. It 
was the fruit of night labor. With the exception of a few 
descriptive scenes drawn from nature during the happy epi- 
sode of his visit at “ Sublimity,” the whole book had been 
written after the completion of his daily employments in the 
lawyers* office. He had nearly completed it when he was 
invited away from the city. It had now received the finish- 
ing touches* The pen fell. What next? How gratifying 
the reflection that if no publisher would assume haxa^ 


WAMWWX, 


m 


of its publication he still had the means to issue it to tho 
world 1 The carefully hoarded balance of the gift of the un- 
known was his only and great reserve. That was safe in 
bank. He took up a city newspaper which had been thrown 
aside by the lawyers who had left the office hours before 
Almost the first item of intelligence which met his eye was 
the failure of the bank where the precious dollars were de- 
posited. His delicate aristocratic features assumed an ex- 
pression of agony which told that the noblest ambition of hif 
manhood had been blighted. Poor, weary, helpless scholar ! 
where should he turn now ? He read the announcement of 
the failure again. It was, alas I too true. There was no 
hope of future resumption of payment. It was a complete 
and irretrievable failure. It seemed as if his sheet-anchor 
had been swept away. The chance of his being able to find 
a purchaser who would undertake the risk of publishing a 
new book was a forlorn hope indeed. Might not the fact 
that a new book was announced bj’’ the author who had been 
claimed as the writer of Polymnia, and whom the public 
press had generally pronounced to be a pretender, excite 
public attention to such an extent that a publisher would 
feel Justified in assuming risks. At the least it was a hope, 
and, when he had fully considered it, he started up in en- 
thusiasm, seized his manuscript, and, closing the door 
securely behind him, hastened down and out to a stage. He 
knew the residence of a prominent publisher could yet be 
reached before the hour of evening calls would be over. It 
was a bold and hasty step, intruding upon the most promi- 
nent and wealthy publisher in the metropolis at his home 
long after business hours. He was not even acquainted 
with the man, but his agony and despair gave wings to his 
speed. He found no stage where he had expected it, and 
hastened away to another line. He gained the desu’ed cor- 
ner. Fortunately an omnibus was just passing. He called 
sharply to the driver. He was heard. All right ! He gained 
a place in the stage and rolled away. Another second and 
he would have lost the seat. At least ten minutes would 
have been lost, and he had no time to spare. Nothing but 
the excess of his anxiety could have prompted him to so un- 
business-like a step. But he could not wait for the morrow. 
His last plank was slipping beneath his feet. The night 
would be a watch of torture. He must know the fate of his 
hook at once. Aa the stage rolled on he mfieoted mow 


WARWICK. 


BS4 

oalmiy. He was approachmg a publisher unknown to him 
personally, but who had the reputation of being the hardest 
man of his class in the metropolis. It was said by authors 
that he would assume no risks, that he was no judge of 
merit, that money always was an element in his negotiations 
with authors for publication, and that a poor man must 
never approach him ; no I not if he were gifted with the bril- 
liance and genius of a seraph. And now, in the anxiety of 
his poor, weary brain, and his sinking heart. Constant Earle 
was hastening to beard that lion in his den. Fly away, 
heavy, lumbering stage I augment that snail pace, weary and 
forlorn steeds I for one almost distracted, suffering in brain 
and drooping in heart, may not hold out in the honest strug- 
gle of life much longer. There is a limit beyond which such 
natures cannot go, may not go. The Christian firmness 
and the Christian trust in God alone can save them from the 
mad results of yielding to despair. This sheet-anchor of the 
struggling author Constant Earle fortunately possessed. 
Would not God reward him now after so long and pa- 
tient a trial ? Alas I it seemed as if his heroic Christian 
strength was doomed to bring him only disappointment. 
His heart failed him as he rode along. He had been 
precipitate in his purpose. He had better have waited 
until the morrow. They only can comprehend this ear- 
nest, sudden impetus, this headlong determination to 
know the worst, whose natures correspond with his. On, 
on, slowly on, rolled the heavy stage. At last it neared the 
expected comer. It stopped at his pull upon the leather 
check. Ho was out, away up the side street, before the 
door. He rung nervously. How strange his visit 1 Would 
he meet coldness, business surprise, refusal to consider his 
proposal at that strange hour? The door flew open. A 
glare of light filled the elegant residence. He was ushered 
in by the servant, who was deferential to the princely man 
before him, and amazed evidently at his huge bundle. 
There was an inconsistency evidently in the visitor’s manner 
and his load. The puzzled servant scanned him from head 
to foot, wondering at the anomaly, — a prince with a bundle ! 
He answered to the inquiry that his master was in and could 
be seen. He admitted the visitor to a parlor which was un* 
occupied, and went after the gentleman of the house. All 
was silence for a moment. Then the author heard the loud 
of «-.bildreTi in an inner room, and pref««ntly 


WAHWrCK, 


S8I 

young ladies, superbly dressed, and with opera cloaks and 
fans in hand, glanced into the parlor in passing. 

“ How handsome he is I ” said one to the other as they 
passed up the elegant stairway, never conceiving for an in- 
stant that she could be overheard from the parlor below* 
Presently the publisher entered. What a libel had bees 
circulated I He was as mild and gentlemanly as a pnnce, 
looked pleasantly, but curiously, at his visitor, and said, as 
he received his salutation : — 

“You must pardon me, sir, for keeping you waiting a 
moment, but I was finishing the reading of one of the most 
intensely interesting novels that ever fell into my hands. I 
seldom read such things ; but so much praise has been given 
it by my daughter that I thought I would look into it. I 
was on the last page. Have you ever read it, sir ? It is 
Po4ymniaJ* 

Something like the quick strokes of a miniature hammer 
beat upon the poor author's heart. A thrill of his former 
fiery, impassioned blood swept through him. Was it the 
avant-coureur of his triumph ? Had the God whom he had 
striven to serve through all his years of stmggle and mental 
anguish guided him in that frantic dash up the street to a 
man who could appreciate his talent, speak a kind word to 
him, take him by the hand in the midst of his struggles, and 
yield him that encouragement which makes such impulsive 
natures as his great ? For the moment he could not speak. 
He said at length eagerly, though his voice trembled : — 

“ 'Ihat is my book, sir ; I penned every line of it. They 
stole it from me ; but God knows it is mine. I have brought 
you another, and I believe a better production. I believe 
God will not allow this to be wrested from me. I came at 
this strange hour because my heart was so anxious to know 
my fate. Will you be kind enough to cast your eye over a 
few pages, and give me your judgment whether or not this 
book was written by the author of Polymnia ? ” 

Who had ever looked into that fhll, magnificent, glittering 
eye of blue, and doubted him? His marvellous beauty, his 
urbane courtesy and winning softness, blended with his un- 
doubted gentleness and aristocracy of birth, rendesred him 
the cynosure of every refined circle. The publisher con- 
templated this former idol of the beau monde for an instant 
In silent appreciation before he replic<i. 

What is your name, sir ? " 

n 




1 #^ 


‘‘Ooaatatit Eaiid fou mast have known my father, the 
merchant, at least by reputation.” 

“ I knew him personally, sir ; one of the most elegant and 
upright gentlemen I ever met. You have done well to come 
to me. Your face is your passport however. You do not 
need his reputation to gain you a hearing from me. Now, sir, 
If you will allow me for a few moments to examine yon? 
manuscript, I will give you my judgment upon your ques- 
tion. Was your object in coming to negotiate for its publi- 
cation? ” 

“ It was.” 

“ Very well, then ; if you will be good enough to amuse 
yourself with books upon the table yonder, I wifi retire for a 
short time and give your manuscript a cursory examina- 
tion.” 

In another moment Constant Earle was alone and so over- 
whelmed with his anticipated success that every nerve in his 
organization was upon the keen jump. He tried to compose 
himself. He had stood heroically and faced the storm. 
For years his nerves had been strained to their utmost ten- 
sion. That fine, delicate, nervous organization, reared in 
luxury, had lived on husks, The keen agony of disappoint- 
ment, the deprivation of refined and elegant companionship 
with his peers, serious apprehensions of failure and starva- 
tion, the bitterness of being an outcast from the home of his 
dead father, the frantic struggles of ambition with pain in 
his brain and the cold sneers of critics had been trium- 
phantly trampled upon. By the aid of God and a resolute 
heart he had vanquished opposition, and now appreciation 
of his merit, inclination to help him, kind words and sym- 
pathy came so suddenly and overwhelmingly npon him, that 
the fountains of his heart were unsealed. Tears, rich, pas- 
sionate tears of joy and exultation, sprang to his eyes. His 
Spartan resolution had won the victory, and it was too 
much for him. He listened after a time for returning foot- 
steps. All was silence. The publisher was absorbed. 
Then he walked about the apartment to relieve himself of 
the burden of his joy, gazing intently upon every painting 
and decoration, as if wealth and taste were novelties. The 
publisher was evidently a man of cultivation, an arbiter 
ilegmiHarum. Books, choice, and gathered from every 
quarter of the literary globe, were displayed the salon^ 
«ad the paintogs were rare, and judioiouky disposed. H# 


WTAmmcw, 


as’i 

pttiised before a atrlkinsj portrait of an aged but regal per* 
sonage, 'wrhose long gray beard fell upon an ermine robe, and 
about whose necis was suspended a massive chain of gold. 
A cap of velvet, with a curling white i^ume, surmounted the 
venerable head. It was the patriot Gustavus Wasa. Furthei 
on he founa a painting of the feai’ful gorge and foaming tor- 
rent of Steenbree. On a pedestal was a marble Cupid and 
Psyche, by Sergei, and, in another comer, a bust by Bystrom. 

He was aroused from this study by approaching footsteps. 
Now he would know the fate of his manuscript. The pub- 
lisher entered with a business air and presented him with a 
legal document. 

“ That is the best offer I can make you for your manu- 
script. If you accept the terms please sign your name to 
it.” 

He read the contract careMly. The offer exceeded his 
most sanguine expectations. 

“I accept the terms, sir. You are munificent in your 
offer.*^ 

“ That compliment is not often made to me, Mr. Earle. 
I am glad that you are satisfied. But, really, your book is 
powerfully written. Your authorship of Polymnia is there 
unmistakably indicated. The most careful critics will de- 
tect now the fraud which has been practised upon you ; ay I as 
infallibly #>s Archimedes discovert the mixture of gold and 
silver in King Hiero^s crown.’^ 

“And you believe that the Cave of Cheiron has within 
it the elements of popular success ? ” 

“ I do, Mr. Earle. The lofty moral element is more po- 
tent in this land than one would imagine from the success 
that greets the trashy issues of the press. You write power- 
ftilly, and your language is sweet and graceful as liiat of 
Xenophon, ‘ the Attic bee.* ” 

** A nd you would advise me to continue the pursuit of 
authorship ? ** 

“Undoubtedly. I will give you at least as favorable 
terms for anything your pen will produce equal to the Cave 
of Cheiron.’* 

“ Shall I leave the manuscript with you? ** 

“ Certainly. I will take care of it, and if you will come to 
my office to-morrow I will notify you when you may expect to 
receive proofs.** 

“ Go<^-night, sir^** extending his hand to the publish^*- 


WJLMWfCS. 


”T{sai have lifted a weight ft*om my heart that n© tongue 
esu expBCSS. I wish for a moment I had the thirty-two hand? 
of Siva, that I might add force to that grip.’’ 

‘‘ One Christian hand is more potent with me, Mr. Earle^ 
than the combined fists of all the pagan gods,” was the 
amused but hearty response. “ Good-night, sir.” 

The street door closed between them. The restraint of 
self-dignity and composure was over. The pace of the ex- 
oltant author was fleet in his joy. The very flags of the 
pavement seemed to uplift in sympathy with his elastic 
tread. How glorious, cheering, gorgeous, sped the stars in 
their orbits I Everything, from the star-lit fronts of the 
avenue mansions to the twinkle of the gas-lights at the cor- 
ners, looked merry and cheerful. He laughed to himself the 
Joyous, triumphant laughter of a light heart and a buoyant 
future. He was transformed in an instant. The sadness 
and bitterness of life had vanished. He surrendered him- 
self entirely to the exultation, the laisser-aller of the hour. 
He spoke to himself, and so emphatically that pedestrians 
looked in amazement at him as they passed. He was In- 
toxicated, thrilled, by the triumph of his labor and his 
genius. 

** Ah, what a prophetess she was I My last book will In- 
deed vindicate my authorship of Polymnia. Dear, noble 
girl, where are you ? The cup of my triumph is not ftill 
without you. O God, crown the sweetness of this hour by a 
clue to that dear, noble, precious star that arose upon my 
despair and lighted me to victory 1 ” 


AIm ! oar yoaag affeotionf nia to waste. 

Or watw Iiat the desert. 

Bnoa. 

Mssfl Delano sat in her uncle's libraiy one evening in tke 
autumn, reading the evening paper aloud. The Reverend 
ITiomas Delano was comfortably ensconced in his arm-chair 
aad enjoyh^ the luxury of toasting his slippered feet at the 
coal fire. He Imd just rtitursetl from a merry wedding-pas^ 


frAMWH&U 


Riwi was in the best of humor, and preparing himself by a 
thorough absorption of caloric for the completion of his ser- 
mon for the ensuing Sunday. 

“ Go on,” he said ; “ give us the headings and cream of 
the news. I have little time to spare — what is that! 
Do you hear it, May? — there in the wall?” 

She paused, let fall the paper and listened. A continuous 
whirring was heard for a moment, and then it mysteriously 
ceased. 

“ Is it possible you have never heard that sound before, 
uncle?” 

“ Certainly not. What is it? ” 

“ You are wise as I am regarding the matter. But I have 
beard that sound at intervals ever since Mr. [I^le took those 
rooms.” 

“ What in the name of wonder is it? It sounds like the 
wheels of a miniature machine-shop.” 

*♦ Some device of the arch-enemy, uncle, leading that man 
farther onward and downward in his reckless career. I be- 
lieve he is cultivating some department of the black art. 
Mrs. Secor is firmly persuaded he is in league with Jingle- 
Foot. But, seriously, I have heard that peculiar sound often, 
and generally late at night. I cannot comprehend it. But 
it sounds like machinery. I have heard him moan some- 
times in his sleep. I have shuddered at the sound, it re- 
sembled so much what I imagine would be the cry of a man 
who had committed a great crime, and whose serenity was 
disturbed in sleep by visions of his victim.” 

“ You have a ^vid imagination, niece.” 

** Perh]^9S so,” was the quiet response. But shall I go 
on now ? ” 

“ Yes, propel. I am warming up splendidly, and shall 
resume my pen in a minute. My sermon introduces those 
♦vagabond Jews, exorcists, who took upon themselves to call 
over them which had evil spirits the name of the Lord 
Jesus, saying,’ etc. It will stimulate my imagination to 
think that some one of that tribe is operating within a few 
feet of me. There it goes again I Well, never mind. Give 
us the news.” 

The clear, sweet voice of the heiress resumed the reading 
of the paper. She gave her uncle the headings, and paused 
and turned to something else in the sheet, when he indicated 
his refusal to hear that column of news. Finally she reached 


m 




a matter that excited bis interest, and at the word of oom 
mand proceeded to give him the article at length. Sh« 
Snally finished the column, and was proceeding with anothei 
heading, when the street-bell sounded sharp and clear. She 
waited a moment to learn the cause of the interruption. .A 
servant soon appeared with a package addressed to Miss 
Delano. 

“ What have you there. May ? ” inquired her uncle. 

“ WTiy, a new book ! ” she exclaimed. “ ‘ Miss Delano^ 
with compliments of the author^ Constant Earle,* Here .s 
Mr. Earle’s new book that he was telling you about, Cave 
of Cheiron. What does that mean ? That’s classical is it 
not ? ” 

** Certainly, child. Have you forgotten ? You used to 
know everything by heart from that wonderful laud.” 

“Well, I cannot be expected to be a perfect encyclo- 
piedia.” 

“ Very true, niece. But the Cave of Cheiron is a beau- 
tiful title for a book. It sounds like a title selected by the 
pen and taste of a scholiast. I tell you that Constant Earle 
is a promising fellow. They all speak well of that book 
that was stolen from him. But Cheiron, May, was the ideal 
instructor of the heroic age. His cave on the summit of 
Mount Pelion was the academy of the early Hellenic educa- 
tion. I suppose our author has been sitting in the entrance 
of that ancient grotto giving us some of his lucubrations. 
Very good, very good. Why, you seem to bo so deep in the 
'jook already, that I exiiect I shall get no more newspaper 
out of you this evening.” 

“ Pardon me, uncle. It is natural to take some interest 
in the books of our acquaintances. I will finish the paper, 
however, for you gladly.” 

“ No I go on with Cheiron, May. I will glance over the 
paper myself, just for a moment. — Ah I what is this ? You 
did not reach the literary notices. Here is Mr. Cheiron 
served up in elegant style. Here — read this delicate mor- 
ceau of criticism yourself. Let me look over the hook while 
you skim this article.” 

“ I thought you did not approve of novels, uncle,” she 
said, glancing up archly. 

“That censure, niece, extends only to the slurs on relig- 
ion and decency, for which every miserable homunculus of 
the day deems himself sent to emrth with a special missio9a 




m 


I do not objoct to light literature properly hanilled. Then 
qiay be a deal of good in it.” 

“Well, give me the paper. I know your sermon wlB 
make you drop it soon. At all event® I shall suggest ser 
mon to you every five minutes.” 

The clergyman laughed as he handed the paper to her, 
She took it eagerly enough, and read an article headed 
“ Cheiron redeems Polymnia” The criticism of t^e new 
book was a masterly production. It was length}^, every 
praise or censure being carefully weighed, no extravagant 
epithets indulged in, everything fair, reasonable, and schol- 
arly. But the source, ah, the source ! How well she knew 
that able pen, the sceptre of the most profound and solid 
critic and editor in the metropolis I She knew what that en- 
dorsement signified. Ho had not even condescended to no- 
tice Polymnia when it came out. But Cheiron, the astrono- 
mer and seer in his mountain grotto, had struck tln'ough the 
joints of his brazen armor, the moody silence in which 
ephemeral literature ever found him. She looked up with a 
thrill of joy to her uncle, — the warm, enthusiastic pride of a 
woman who loves silently and hopelessly. “ How grand 
for Mr. Earle is this criticism from this pen I 11 est 
tcUisil* 

“ Ah I ” exclaimed her uncle, looking up from his absoqy 
tion, “ fine as that notice is, it does not do justice to th^ 
pure merits of this book. This young man must have bees 
studying Sydney Smith. Do you remember those subltffi® 
words, ‘ The fire of our minds is like the fire which the IV 
gians bum in the mountains, — it flames night and day, and 
ifl immortal, and not to be quenched ! Upon something it 
must act and feed, — upon the pure spirit of knowledge, oi 
upon the foul dregs of polluting passions. Tlierefore, when 
I say, in conducting your understanding, love knowledge 
with a great love, with a vehement love, with a love coeval 
with life, what do I say, but love innocence, love \irtue, 
love purity of conduct, love that which, if you are rich and 
great, will sanctify the blind fortune which has made you 
so, and make men call it justice, — love that which, if you 
are poor, will render your poverty respectable, and make 
the proudest feel it unjust to laugh at the meanness of your 
fortunes ' ? I can plainly see, May, that this new arithw baa 
quenchiiig his thirst at the living fountains. I bid hlai 
l 3 k)d- 8 peed. I think I can s^preciatc and sympathiae witSi 


m 




the emotion of Queen Margaret of France when she stooped 
in the presence of the astonished court and kissed tie sleep* 
ing Alain Chartier, the ugliest man in the kingdom, exclaim* 
ing, ‘ I do not kiss the man, but the mouth that has uttered 
so many charming things/ ” 

“ I do not think, uncle, that it would do to trust all womea 
with this kiss of honor. It should be the prerogative. oL 
the queen alone.” 

“True,” responded the clergyman. “Some of the bien- 
aimes of literary fortune might be overwhelmed. But this 
Earle is really brilliant; ironical as Lucian, strong as 
Juvenal, discriminating as Theophrastus, and witty as Hor- 
ace. He is no mediocrist, I assure you.” 

The clergyman was deepl}’^ interested and resumed the 
reading of the book. His niece sat thoughtfully with the 
light of the coal fire on her face, and thinking of the effect 
that favorable criticism would produce in literary circles. 
Now that noble, beautiful swimmer upon the tide of life was 
making headway. The encouragement from such high au- 
thority would stimulate that enthusiastic nature to loftier 
flights of genius. The measure of his literary glory was a 
mere matter of time. A sadness, deep, hidden, incessant, 
was upon her heart. She loved him truly, earnestly, and 
that affection would be durable, for it was based upon re- 
spect ; it would ever be secret, for she was proud and mod- 
est. It seemed so hard, that, with all her power and ardor of 
affection, her exuberant growth of heart, she could not de- 
velop her love by outward acts, but must sternly school 
herself to loneliness and desolation. Every manifestation 
of regard for her on his part was so palpably mere friend- 
ship. He had not been touched by the .fatal arrow. He was 
dreaming away his life in the illusions of ambition. The 
sweet agony of being a woman’s slave had probably never 
been a reality to him. Undoubtedly he craved love. Such 
had been his former declaration to her; but it was his 
natural yearning after the ideal. He was a dreamer. The 
love of any human creature would never satisfy him. His 
standard of love was too high. She alone of all the race of 
women-kind could respond to his ardent yearning, and she 
was a muzzled, silent witness of the love wanderings of his 
heart. She arrogated to herself all the in ton si t)^ and ca- 
pacity for loving that his ideal demanded. Alas ! whal 
^vailed the assumption I He was calm, courteous, houorabl©^ 


mijsirtap. 


mu 

dvfi, but self-assessed, and indigent to that secret treaK 
nre which lay in his path. 

Her uncle had remarked the gi*owing indifference of lii? 
niece to society, where she reigned supreme. The numerous 
attentions of gentlemen to which she was habituated were 
abating. It was discouraging indeed to receive in return 
for elegant bouquets, assiduous attentions, and entire and 
undivided devotion, nothing but that calm and serene 
courtesy of manner, that habitual fi-^w of wit, that guarded 
biensiance of look and tone. Many gentlemen forsook her 
in despair. Many remained, clinging to the drowning man’s 
straw. There is a strange necessity for love in the female 
heart, but in all true, desirable hearts it is ever subservient 
to that judgment which pronounces marriage a mockery that 
does not involve the soul. She had ever cherished the ex- 
treme idealism of love, and now. that she had shipwrecked 
her heart upon the unfriendly shore, she experienced d4gout 
at the advances gentlemen made to her. When the revel or 
tiie call was over, with feelings of relief she acknowledged 
the sweetness of her lonely room. She enjoyed the society 
of Miss Deming more since that young lady had given up 
hope of winning Constant Earle. That lively, sweet, gentle 
girl had not loved profoundly. She had been fascinated, like 
scores of girls before her, by his beauty, gentleness, and tal- 
ent, She had subsided into the state of simple admiration, 
and had gone after strange idols. Miss Delano was not 
called upon for advice in that quarter again. Hence the 
Intimacy was upon pleasant footing once more. Society 
had again volunteered its opinion that the heiress was still 
at a loss to find a suitable object for her lofty ambition. 
One of such royal expectations must expect to drift some- 
times into the stormless sea of old-maidism. And yet she 
had not attained the age of one score and four, and was as 
brilliant and elastic as a sylph. There were gentlemen in 
her train who would gladly have taken her at thirty ; men 
who had wisely discarded the old prejudice that fascination 
ceases with a girl’s teens. The i»!b»llectual era reftises to 
admit a girl’s diploma under twenty. The intellectual do 
velopment of women, and the recognition of its necessity, 
has swept old-maidism far off under the shadows of Ibrty. 
The mere discussion of the idea of a more comprehenalt^ 
m^tai cultui-e for women has given men a staremger 
iud keener relish tor life-partners who have # 


m 


WJMmcje^ 


pretty face that fades beside a husband at thirty has g^veii 
place to a sublime and cultured soul, that rises upon hla 
evenings a star ever increasing in brilliancy and power to 
cheer. Toung-maidism and mere physical beauty received 
a terrible check when the age resolved to admit female 
intellect into the world’s arena. 

After a long reverie, Miss Delano, finding that her uncle 
was still absorbed in the Cave of Cheiron, quietly glided 
from the libraiy, and sought her own room. She longed to 
give way to that flood of passion and hopelessness which 
surged upon her heart. Keserved in the presence of others, 
her self-possession gave way in solitude. She flung herself 
upon her bed, and wept bitterly, that long, helpless, weary- 
ing sobbing which yields no relief ; that continues through 
the night, when the moon looks coldly in ; that weeps on 
when the solemn cloel^ in the tower tolls midnight, and 
startles the mourner to her feet, that she may kneel and for- 
get not the duty to Him who does all things well. Help- 
lessly she bowed before Him in entreaty, in sobbing, tj ago- 
nized prayer. He had promised to bind up every broken 
and heavily laden heart, to pour the oil of joy and consola- 
tion into every hopeless soul that knelt to him. She pleaded 
earnestly that she might be reconciled to her lonely fate; 
that this overwhelming passion might not obscure her wor- 
ship of the Man of Sorrows, the thorn-crowned Saviour of 
the world. She begged for light to guide her, for a revela- 
tion which should teach her where to concentrate her ener- 
gies and her resources for the honor of God, of his church, 
of his poor. “ Take all that I am, all that I possess, but 
give me only peace once more.” She arose from her knees, 
and passed to the window ; the moon was pale and beiautiful, 
bat cold. She pressed her face to the chill glass and peered 
forth. The agony and the desolation of heart returned ; she 
sobbed bitterly again, shiveriug in her utter hopelessness. 
That spiritual beauty of the author s face passed before her 
again, and she bowed her head upon the window, and shook 
nervously in her anguish. ‘‘God comes not near me. I 
plead in vain. He will not cast down the idol which I have 
reared, and which my poor human nature refuses to dethrone. 
I I’annot forget you, O pure and beautiful dream I Every 
generous and pure instinct of my heart goes forth to you, 
iseaches forth to you. I cannot forget you. You pass be^- 
fbpe msi crowned and radiant in yom wonderfhl beauty ^and 


iTAJimm. 


m 


gloricmfi gexiiiiK. I love yon, oh, so madly ^ so fyaxiti 
eallj ! You are ever before me. My heart yearns after yot 
when I stand so calmly before you, and when you are gone 1 
am burdened with desolation that God will not lighten.” 

She shook oflf this exhausting frenzy, this weeping which 
seemed to draw blood in its course, and, washing the traces 
from her face, knelt down again before a picture of the 
“ Ecce Homo ” and clasped her hands before the agony oi 
the Thom-Crowned. The very thought of the suffering and 
anguish of that blood-stained Saviour melted her. “ Sanc- 
tify this agony of mine to thine honor and glory, O my 
Master, for it is greater than I can bear.” She leaned her 
beautiful forehead upon the table and sobbed more bitterly 
than before. A storm of despair and hope deferred, and a 
yearning tenderness which tongue may not speak, and no un- 
derstanding comprehend, save those that have suffered the 
agony of unrequited love, swept over her. Her fingers 
clinched in her nervousness, and the proud, beautiful queen 
of the ^lUe moaned as a lost soul. 

So passes the wild, beautiful, first-love of my life. That 
of which I have read and dreamed is my fate at last. Oh, 
I could love you, do love you, with a love passing the love 
of woman I No heart ever loved like mine. The idol rises 
higher and higher towards heaven with every breath I draw. 
Everything that is pure and beautifhl bursts forth at the 
mention of your name. Ah I for one word of gentleness 
from you I would face torture. That love which you will 
lavish upon another, one drop of it would nourish my heart, 
my poor, weary, yearning, bleeding heart. O merciful 
God 1 help me. I am thy child. I am marked with thy cross. 
I will follow thee without a murmur. • Strengthen me, for I 
am so weak in the presence of this idol which steals my rea- 
son, my faith, my hope of immortal happiness and peace. 
Ah I peace, I shall never know it again I ” 

She struggled witn herself again and conquered. She sat 
down by the table, and, spreading her Bible before her, l>ent 
over It in study. “ And I heard a great voice out of heaven 
saying ; Behold the tabernacle of God is with men, and he 
will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God 
himself shall be with them and be their God. 

“ And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes ; and 
there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, 
neither sh ^l tbare be any more pain ; for the former tj^ngs 




The ftdr and lovely mourner drank in the heavenly loepb 
ration like a draught from the river of IjUTe in the eternal city. 
She wept at the soothing words, and then calmly committed 
her soul with its passions to the Eternal Hand. She prayed 
earnestly for the fair, royal man who had stolen her peace, 
and she prayed for that sense of duty which should cause an 
upright, patient life, patient and pure unto the end. She 
slept at last when the cold moon had passed away, and in 
her dream she was walldng beside the great white throne of 
the hereafter, and at her side was a face spiritualized and 
smiling tenderly upon her, which had first awakened love in 
her heart in the regions of time. 

At last, in the midst of this heavenly vision which seemed 
to have been sent her in answer to her prayer for peace, for 
strength to endure and suffer through this mortal life, a sud- 
den jar seemed to rend the golden pavements of the celestial 
city beneath her feet. A terrific earthquake opened before 
her, and all was darkness. In the violence of the shook she 
awoke. Her room was dark, and she started up in her bed. 
Could a dream have caused so sudden and violent a horror? 
She slept again when the first terror of the concussion bad 
passed away. In the morning she awakened to a clear and 
beautiful day. The heart-j^earning remained, but she had been 
strengthened for the struggle, and, resolute upon a new and 
loftier career of virtue, she dressed herself and descended to 
the parlor for the morning family-prayers. At the break- 
fast-table her uncle remarked : — 

“ I dreamed last night of a terrible earthquake, and so 
powerful was the shock to my nerves that I awoke. I fhn- 
eied for an instant that I could hear groans of hnman agony. 
How strange is the phenomenon of sleep I ” 

“ Extraordinary indeed ! ” exclaimed his niece, “ thatboHi 
of us should be aroused by the same dream. I thought a 
cannon might have been fired under my window.” 

“ But I was sitting up In bed,” said her uncle, “ and look- 
ing about for the cause of the disturbance when a groan 
seemed to come up through the parlor ceiling, I called, but 
received no answer, and then, concluding that I had over- 
taxed my nerves by late study, turned over and dropped 
asleep again.*’ 

The memory of tiiis oonversation recurred to the two at a 
later period. 


WdMwnar. 


m 


a&apter IlIF. 

flow narrow limits were to Wisdom giren! 

Barth snnreys; she thenoo would meaouro HosTIMit 
Through mists obscure now wings her tedious way} 

Now wanders daszled with too bright a day. 

PUM. 

The author sat in his new lodging-room at a table with 
the brazen antique before him. His new quarters were 
pleasant and comfortable, and the first luxuries in which he 
indulged himself upon his literary success were arranged on 
shelves near at hand, — the friends of adversity, the consolers 
of lonely hours, the ever-oonstant companions, books. Ex- 
perience had been a prudent counsellor. He was hoarding 
the income from his successftil novel. He was only extrava- 
gant in books, those mines of thought from which future 
literary success should be wrought. The mother’s gift was 
receiving carefhl scrutiny. A brazen weight, a simple gold 
ring, a Bible, were his heirlooms. One family relic beside 
had been secured to him by his brother’s offer, while he was 
domiciled at “ Silvicola.” From all the family curiosities 
which had been laid before him he had made a singular 
eelection, — an old ivory-handled, iron-pointed, silk umbrella 
qI his deceased grandfather. He had reasoned, when the 
fhmily display was revealed to him, that an ancient and mas- 
•Iv® bureau, rich and quaint, would be very pleasant to have 
ev«r in sight, as would several other antiquities of the 
Earles, that he might have chosen. But he had then no 
place to put it. The floor of the law-office was his lodging. 
In any event it would be out of keeping with his fallen con- 
dition to have so valuable and bulky an article of ftirniture 
about him. What would be most serviceable for a student, 
a toiler for bread? With a laugh he had chosen the huge 
nmbrella. If matters came to the worst, it would be a per* 
ffect tent for him. No trivial, dainty, scanty shelter against 
rain did the forefathers carry. They raised against the 
•tormy skies the aegis of an enormous dome of cloth. Th® 
foundations of their umbrellas were firm and durable. They 
were made to endure, to protect, to disguise, to transmit to 
posterity. An earnest scion of the brave old stock had horn 
ored the memory of the ancients, and flown to the sheltei of 


m 


WAMWtm. 


the disable fabric, as Noah to the ark. The Tenemble bei» 
loom rewarded his preference by piloting him through fear* 
ful rains, safe and dry, when pedestrians beside him saved 
only their heads and shoulders, ^nd sacrificed their feet and 
legs on the altar of fashion. The folded wonder of antiquity 
was an admirable staff when closed ; ay, more, a Hercules 
club for defence in an unequal assault. Heavy and vast 
&8 it was, he was gradually becoming attached to it. It 
waa so reliable. He had thus far encountered no wind that 
could turn it. It was solid and substantial, and ready for 
storms, gales, wrecks, like the forefathers. It now stood 
grim and patient at the post to which the author had 
assigned it beside his bookcase. 

But the antique from Salamis ; ay, the weight. He was 
puzzling himself over it. The drowsy night of the opiate 
was passing before his memory. Its scenes were perfbct 
pictures until the instant before he had fallen under the in- 
fluence of the drugged leaves. The last consciousness was 
distinct before him. The talismanio writing was photo- 
graphed upon his brain : “ The hieroglyphics on the brass 

are unquestionably solved by studying the symbols of the gods 
and goddesses** 

The equilateral triangle, the first of the signs on the pe- 
riphery, was an enigma. It would have b^ed CEkiipus, 
flushed from his triumph over the Theban Sphinx, to explain 
it. It stood apart from the line of hieroglyphics ; so the 
author concluded to leave it and go on with the others. 
The next in order was a bow. This he named ApoUo, The 
zigzag lightning he assumed was the divine anger typiflied 
hy Nemesis, Then followed a hunting-spear, which he named 
Oi'thia^ a surname of Diana. Then followed an arch, which 
he conceived to be the rainbow of Iris. The next symbol, 
a ctip, he marked down for Ganymedes, the cup-bear,er of 
Jupiter. The next figure was a torch. This could be noth* 
ing but Eos^ goddess of the dawn. Now for the test. If 
the first letter of each proper name thus obtained would to* 
gether with the others give a plausible word in Greek, the 
language of Solon, he would continue, feel justified In 
continu'r g, to apply this solution to the remaining symbols 
in the circle, lie [)laced them in a line, thus : Apollo ^ Nems- 
sisy Orlhkij Jm, Ganymedes^ Eos^ and found the resulting 
word to be Anoige'. ' Then he wrote it in Greek, thus^ J 
which translated signifies Qpen. This was plaosible. B« 


trAMWTCSr. 


resumed tli© examination of the symbols in the next groap. 
then the next, the next, and so on to the end, selecting the 
first letter of every name of god or goddess, and combining it 
with the others into Greek words as before. Then the whole 
line was written out in Greek thus : Avot/s ri)v oXtjv [{> s^iXdw. 
{Ope:% the forest that I may come out.) 

He sat then puzzling over this strange result, “ Open the 
forest that I may come out.*^ What in the name of mystery 
could that mean? What forest? Who was to come out? 
He buried his hands in his hair and bent over the paper. 
Some mystic meaning must attach to the word forest. Is not 
a forest itself a mystery? One approaches its unknown 
depths with caution and awe. A cave black and gloomy is 
a mystery, why not, then, a forest, dark, difficult, filled ^th 
hidden recesses, lairs of wild beasts, shadows, gloom? Per- 
haps the word forest was a substitute for mystery. Then 
the sentence would read, “Open the mystery that I may 
come out.” How provoking I That was the very purpose 
upon which he was bent, opening the mystery. How should 
he open it ? His anxiety grew fearful. He paced up and 
down his room. “ Open the mystery, open the mystery,” he 
mattered, striding back and forth like one in frenzy. He 
paused in his fierce tramp, and sat down over the weight 
again. “Brazen voice, speak I What shall I open?” 
Solon and his Egyptian friends were scattered dust. How 
could they speak ? Inanimate brass had no tongue. Why 
not? Had it? Where was it? He grappled the weight in 
the intensity of his curiosity ; his eye ran over every line, 
curve, and angle, of the symbol and figures. His attention 
became riveted at length upon his imaginary Solon, standing 
on the island of Salamis, pointing forward with one hand, 
and downward with the other. His first supposition re- 
turned to him. The pointing must mean Zo(pia^ wisdom^ 
knowledge thebe, down there at his feet^ will lead men thereof 
away across the ocean to Atlantis, the Atlantic Isle, “ with 
ihe great continent beyond** America. There 1 what does that 
mean ? There, wisdom there — A flash of light came to him. 
Perhaps wisdom there, that is, at Solon’s feet, was in the 
brass, in the inside of the brass. Great Jupiter 1 perhaps the 
brass had an inside. He looked at it earnestly. Not a 
line betrayed to him an opening. The periphery of the 
brass bad several grooves in it. Who would dare to say that 
one of those grooves might not conceal a joint ? He Si^ al 


m 




the thought, grasped lAie vdght and his hat^ and ran awa5 
to a machine-shop. 

When he gained his destination he was nearly out of 
breath, so excited had he become. He pushed open the 
door, and entered the home of machinery, clashing, roaring, 
confusion and din. 

“ Be kind enough,” he said, addressing a machinist, “ to 
put that in your vise for an instant, and give it a wi*enoh 
open. Please be careM and not harm the miniature on this 
side — here — see ? ” 

“ My friend,” said the machinist, after a brief inspection 
of the brass, “ that thing won’t open, — don’t you see it's 
solid.” 

“ Never mind ; you just try.” 

The man smiled incredulously, and, placing the brass in 
the vise, tightened it, and applied his wrench to it. The 
brass had been fashioned more than two thousand years be- 
fore. But at that Herculean application of force, it slowly 
yielded, — unscrewed, and, to the utter amazement of both 
slowly opened. The perseverance and will of the scholar had 
triumphed. The voice of antiquity was about to open its bra- 
zen deathless lips. What agonizing suspense I The brass 
came apart, disdosing a recess cloddy packed with thin plaJles 
of gold^ lying one upon another ^ and glittering like (he plated 
front of the ancient Jewish Temple in the flash of the morning 
sun. Nations, kingdoms, empires, had crumbled into dust, 
and were misty as fables, and the little brass had survived 
them all, and offered once more to the sun’s rays its pro- 
cious deposit, its treasury of thin golden records. Every 
plate was careftilly engraved with tiny symbols, and was as 
fresh, as untarnished, as when the great lawgiver and sage 
hid them all away. 

Eagerly the owner scanned them one by one, as they wore 
removed from the brass. Then anxiously he gathered them 
all together, and, giving the machinist his fee, hurried away 
to his room. He cleared his table for the task before him, 
and spread the golden plates upon it in the order of their 
discovery. They were twelve in number, and he soon dis- 
covered that the character of the writing upon them was tha 
same as on the periphery of the brass. His knowledge of 
theogony enabled him finally to decipher the meaning of all 
the plates. He toiled hours at this task, delayed at times by 
selecting the wrong deity, when two of the gods pessessed 




4d) 


fche same symbol. Finally, however, he was satisfied the to 
terpretation was correct. He wrote upon a sheet of papel 
the se reral interpretations as he took them from the plates 
and read the final result, thus : — 

“ Ogyges, king of Athens and Thebes, alone escaped with 
his family, when Greece was covered with water. He was 
beloved of the gods. Their fury harmed him not. His boat 
floated upon the flood, and Jupiter was pilot. The whole 
earth was one great sea. Far in the West was a great king, 
the brother of Ogyges. Knowledge of the stars and their 
orbits, of the times and seasons, of many books of the 
ancients, gave him the power of prophecy. He foretold the 
rain, the eclipse of the sun and the moon. He foretold the 
coming of -ihe great flood. But he defied the gods. 
‘ Brother,* he said, ‘ follow the counsels of the avenging 
deities ; float upon the huge sea, with your kindred, as the}^ 
direct. As for me I am a sage, i know the language of 
the heavenly bodies. I know the secrets of the earth ; there 
will I hide myself; deep in the Great Gave of the West. I 
will descend deep into the earth, and laugh at the storm. 
While idle hands drift upon the flood, I will delve into the 
secrets of the earth, and heap up treasm^es. Farewell.* 

“ Are the gods powerless? No I Human wisdom is short. 
The gods alone are eternal. The Western king, gathering 
his treasures, sought the bowels of the earth. He closed the 
mouth of the Great Gave. He fortified himself at great 
depths. He hid in the Great Pit* He died not by water ; 
the gods destroyed him by fire. His treasures what man 
shall number? They lie deep in the Great Pity in the Great 
Gave, Who shall dare to seek the gold and the jewels which 
Pluto guards ? ** 

The scholar sat bewildered for a moment. Then his 
Spartan will burst forth in words. 

“ I fear only the King of kings and Lord of lords. 
I will beard the false Pluto in his retreat. I will hazard the 
descent Into the Great Pit. Solon was the light of his age. 
I will fathom this mystery.** 

So firmly had he become impressed from his investigations 
that the Western Hemisphere had been peopled from the 
earliest ages ; that an antediluvian nationality had grown up 
in America ; that the general deluge found an advanced 
civilization, gorgeous temples, arts, refinements, wealth in 
the Western World, — that he had been prepared for any suck 


m 


mutfncx. 


annonncement from the brass. Could there oe any iVi! thOK 
doubt that the GrecU Cave of Solon was the Mammoth Cave, 
the wonder of the Western World, that great subterranean 
palace nine miles in extent, whoso marv^ellous arches and 
domes jdeld to the flaming torches of its explorers almost 
flibulous magnificence and beauty, and whose hermetically 
sealed floors have preserved the bones of lost nations as 
perfectly as the dry atmosphere of the Egyptian mummy- 
pits ? He had never visited the great cavern of Kentucky. 
Now he had a double motive for that visit : curiosity to wit- 
ness the marvels which had thrilled the vision of others, and 
a wild, adventurous daring to fathom that which no eye of 
the present generation has ever looked upon, the fearful 
depths of “ Bottomless Pit.'* He was a fearless soul, 
and no sooner had the idea of sounding those gloom-shrouded 
mysteries suggested itself than he adopted it and proceeded 
to put it in execution. He was a freeman once again. His 
book was a great success. Pecuniary embaiTassment had 
left him. Change of scene had been suggested by a physi- 
cian. It was.desii’able that he should not tax his brain by 
fresh literary labors until that delicate organ had enjoyed a 
period of rest. He must change the tenor of his thought. 

One great anxiety haunted him. In this hour of his prosper- 
ity he could find no Nacoochee to share his joy. Hopelessly 
throwing away money in advertisements had ceased. She must 
have left the city. No doubt her talents had been recognized 
by some family from the country. Her eye, perhaps, never 
ranged now through a city paper. His earnest calls through 
the public press had been wasted. How desolate and lonely he 
was at times for the sound of that dear voice I Perhaps she was 
married ; perhaps dead. At that solemn thought he bowed his 
head upon his hands and moaned. With the undying devotion 
of a Sabean he worshipped his Evening Star. He dreamed 
of her, idealized her, longed to take that poor, muffled head and 
face upon his shoulder, and tell her that he loved her soul, that 
her marred beauty was dearer to him than the spotless counte- 
nance of the loveliest city belle. Now that beauty honored 
his genius, now that the elegant and graoefril were glad at 
every turn to do him reverence, now that praise and adula- 
tion were his daily portion, now that beautifhl eyes looked 
after him all they dared and propriety allowed, — he valued 
them not. His whole soul was absorbed in the memory ot 
the graeeM) gifted sdiiolar who bad cheered him 


WAMWmit, 


408 


pointed heavenward when be was about to ML How a 
great passion founded on respect eclipses the love which ia 
born of physical beauty and social position I His earnest^ 
poetic nature had placed upon the shrine of love a true idoL 
With such a nature as his, forgetfulness, inconstancy, seemed 
impossibilities. If there was one girl on the broad earth 
Constant Earle could love it was his lost Spanish scholar, 
If there was one whose beauty, elegance, loveliness, acoom- 
l^ishments, esprit^ piety, brilliance, could arouse his intensity 
of frieindship, that girl was May Delano. He tkcnght of the 
heiress more frequently than she dreamed of. When he was 
in her society he was fascinated and lingered. She detected 
it with a woman's instinct. But it gave her no hope. He 
admired her with the warm regard of a friend, no doubt. 
And yet, strange as it may appear, with all his passion for 
Nacoochee, he was conscious of a mysterious fascination in 
the presence of the heiress. On the occasion of his last 
visit to her to regain possession of the weight, he had coU’ 
versed long and earnestly with her, had left reluctantly, and 
then during his walk homeward had found himself murmur- 
ing, “ Dear Evening Star, I would to God you were as 
^ happy, as physically spotless, as completely environed by 
elegant comforts, as that sweet girl.” Had any one informed 
him that he was in a dilemma between two gifted girls, he 
would have indignantly denied the charge and vindicated 
his love for the lost Nacoochee. To his firm soul there was 
treason in the idea that The Evening Star was not om- 
nipotent in her fascination. He would have offered her his 
hand on the instant of meeting, so frantic was he to possess 
her, to call her his wife ; so eager was his hungry heart for 
love, such love as that girl could give him, if she would. 

At length in his distress to win her, which augmented day 
day the longer she was absent from him, he resolved to 
go to his sister and ftilfil the promise he had laade when she 
had warned him against entangling his heart with a poor 
girl of humble life like his Spanish scholar. He laid aside 
the weight and its contents, and made his way to her humble 
abode, which he had made as comfortable for her as hU 
present means would justify. He had induced her to aban- 
don the bookbindery and rely for the future upon the pro- 
ceeds of his pen. His heart had warmed towards her now 
that he knew she was a mother and bo unhappily situated 


WAJSmGJC. 


by promises to her lost husband. Thus fhr evei^ effort 
to trace Robert Melville had proved unsuccessful. 

He found his sister at home, and soon communicated thf 
object of his visit. 

“ I promised you, Lou, that when I felt myself to bf 
really and earnestly in love, I would tell you. The hour foi 
the fulfilment of that promise has come.” 

“ Brother, I think I can point unerringly to the fortunate 
girl who has stolen your heart.” 

“I doubt it, Lou, unless you have gained some occult 
power from the study of Morin’s ‘ Astrologia Gallioa.’ I trust 
you have not been wasting the funds upon that work that 
Queen Maria de Gonzaga fooled away.” 

“Look in my eyes, brother,” she replied, taking his arm 
in her pure white hand, and facing him. “ No arriSre 
pensh now ; you love a lady on Fifth Avenue.” 

“ I deny it, Lou.” 

“ Then I am disappointed,” she replied, with evident 
pique. “ But you came to make the confession ; out with 
it; you need not doubt my sympathy. Who has gained 
that mysterious temple, your cor cordium ? ” 

“ I fear, Lou, that I shall not have sympathy.” 

“ Strange apprehension, Constant. Of course you could 
love no one who is not a lady,** 

Privation and poverty had not shaken the caste preju- 
dices of that proud, beautiful patrician. She lifted her su- 
perb head as she spoke. The movement reminded him of 
May Delano, when she had expressed her appreciation of 
some woman’s conduct and the class she represented by to 
pointed epithet “ canaille** 

Constant Earle was staggered for an instant. He was 
not unconscious of the demands of that blood which flowed 
in his veins. A gentleman who has once been born to the 
belief that descent from a refined, educated, cultured ances- 
try divides him from the dregs of the human family in some 
way, and to some extent, never entirely divests himself of 
the consciousness that there are matrimonial alliances which 
are not decorous. There are men who loudly proclaim equal- 
ity, sneer at blood and education, who nevertheless would 
cut off their right hand sooner than contract marriage with 
an innocent, industrious Irish emigrant girl, fresh from the 
ship. They have the unadulterated sentiment of caste. If 
any class of acyectives are rampant in the human mind, the} 


rAjurrcK. 


m 


au jood^ better^ heat, ‘fhe brother, after a moment's silence 
durug which he steadily regarded the proud, beautifhl wo* 
man before him, said, calmly, “ Lou, do you believe that youf 
own example has justified you in making that remark to 
me?" 

“ I do, indeed/' she answered, earnestly. “ I married a 
gentleman, one whose conversation, antecedents, manners, 
family, would justify any family-circle in receiving him. I 
would not have dared to desecrate the memory and the ro« 
fined sentiments of those who have been buried by marrying 
a person of vulgar birth. I could not have looked my 
brothers in the face had I been so derelict. K there is one 
word that education and refinement teaches, it is propriety,** 

“ Sister,” was the response husky with emotion, “ I was 
about to inform you of a love which is, and shall be, the 
only love of my life. In the face of what you have recalled 
to me, the memory of the dead , I can never marry. I have 
utterly and forever given my heart away to one whom I will 
not sit here and hear you comment upon. But marry her I 
never will until you shall admit that she is a proper custo- 
dian of my name and honor. It is dishonorable to marry 
one that the soul does not love. It is not dishonorable to 
cherish a secret and unavowed love for one that I cannot 
marry.” 

Constant, I pity you from the bottom of my soul. T 
f^y upon your word entirely. Speak no more of this, for it 
pams you. The instincts of your class should have saved 
you. Alas I this world is naught but agony and despair.” 


Bight thrtmgh the temple of the spaoioiu cave 
He went with soft, light feet — as if his tread 
Fell net on earth; no sonnd their falling gare. 

SaBUiIT. 

u tJl ! hal ha I” chuckled a merry voice, as its owner 
Cflune tramping over the fallen leaves, and making his wav 
Hurough a thicket of tree# and vines down into a tomxam 


m 


ffdnwwx. 


ftnd beautifhl dell ; “ I reckon, Massa Earle, yoti*8 calcolatW 
to camp out in dar?” 

“What’s the matter, Stephen? Anything wrong aboui 
my rig?” inquired the person addressed, looking up fix)in 
his study of the golden hue of the fallen leaves of the coffeo' 
tree, the lighter yellow of the leaves of the tree of heaven, 
and the contrasting brown of the beech, and the blood-red 
of the vine-leaves which were scattered through them. 

“What you goin’ to do with dat ar’ umbreller, Massa 
Earle ? I ’spects it’s a kind of tent, — aint it ? It’s no oount 
here. I neber seed it rain in dar.” 

“ Why, that’s my walking-stick. When it rains, Fm all 
right. Wken it’s dry, I poke around in the rocks with that 
iron end ; when the mosquitoes come too thick, I flap it at 
'em. That’s my muUum in parvo. Why, bless your soul, 
I’d be lost without that old friend.” 

“ Massa Earle, Fs quite familiar with de technological ex- 
pressions of de scientiflc gentlemen dat frequents dis ’ar 
cave. But my observations nebber embraced ^mutter in 
parvo,* Would it derogate from your convenience to elu- 
oerdate dat ’ar technology ? ” 

“That’s simple enough, Stephen. It means much in 
a little.” 

“ Obviously, Massa Earle. I’s under obligations fhr dis 
eluoerdation. But allow me to remark, an passant^ dat dat 
*ar umbrellarin be in your way. You see you’ve got to carry 
dis lamp, and den your geologicus hammer, and between de 
two you’ll hab your hands full. I’ll communicate de fact, 
massa, dat you’ve got some tall trabbellin’ to do afore you 
quit dat *ar cave. It’s one of de progidies of nature.” 

“ I can’t dispense with my umbrella, — that’s certain,” 
replied Constant Earle. “Here, this is what I’ll do 
Give me that piece of twine on your lamp and I’ll swing th^ 
hammer around my waist. You are sure the windlass and 
ropes are in there all right ? ” 

“ Jest as sure as an axiom, massa, for I seed ’em go in.” 

“ And you kept dark about their destination?” 

“ I did indeed. Fs allers silent in de interest of scientille 
and geologicus discobbery. I keep my word, massa.” 

“ Very well, take the lead. I’m all ready now.” 

The aged mulatto, who wa.* & famout tif# 

dangerous and devious passes of the subtoiranean wonder, 
noved on fti fbe word of command, hmAag his staff with • 




40 ! 


metallic lamp at the end of It. The author followed with 8 
similar lamp, and with his ancestral umbrella. The geologi- 
cal hammer was likely to prove an inconvenience to him, but 
he was reconciled to this additional weight when he recog- 
nized the huge bag of provisions shing over the back of the 
guide. Stephen’s pack contained also fireworks for the illu- 
mination of the loftier portions of the cave. The path led 
down through a dell, which in summer-time is shaded by s 
forest of trees and grape-vines. They passed the ruins of 
saltpetre-furnaces, anciently supplied with material from ex 
cavations within the cave ; then mounds of ashes were seeUy 
and finally they turned sharply to the right. At this in^ 
stant a blast of chilly air reached them, and they beheld the 
month of the cave before them, black and gloomy as the en- 
trance to the fabled Tartarus. There were rude steps lead- 
ing down some twenty or thirty feet into the yawning black- 
ness, and, as Constant Earle glanced backward and around 
him in his descent, he saw that darkness and horror were 
rapidly enveloping him. The lamp of the guide began 
to reveal its essential service. In a few seconds more it be- 
came an absolute necessity. The explorers were wrapped 
in profound darkness, their lamps faintly conquering a 
wreath of space from" the interminable horror about them. 
On, on, on, into the fearful and unknown gloom, pressed the 
author, following the lamp of his guide. They had traversed 
a narrow hall, and continuing downward emerged at length 
into the antechamber of the cave. This mere preparatory 
apartment was two hundred feet long, one hundred and sixty 
feet wide, and with a level roof perfectly smoothed by nature, 
and sixty feet in height. Gradually the eye grew familiar 
with the gloom, but could not detect the walls and roof, as 
the lamps were hold aloft. The guide kindled a large fire, 
which brilliantly lit up the scene. This antechamber had 
two passages opening into it, each a hundred feet wide. 
They entered it at right ^angles to each other. They extended 
onward more than five hundred feet each ; and ail having a 
common flat roof gave the effect of an enormous hall or gi- 
gantio temple shaped like the letter L. The guide informed 
him that the passage on the right had been called “ Audubon 
Avenue/' Tlie -itralght ahead waa U) lie ihe> Hue of 

theijr advance, being the commencement of the great cave It* 
TOir. Jlot a column of any kind aided in the support of 
of the antechamber, which wa,s an immecae Wvel 


m 


WAJiwms. 


smooth aa if cut by Instruments of sculpture. It was orsi& 
mented by natiu’o with a wide cornice in panel-work, wondeav 
fully accurate and regular. Huge skeletons of some ancient 
race of men have been excavated from the floor of this vast 
vei#til)ule. A scientiflc gentleman from New York, a few years 
ago, saw a mummy taken from a vault in the cave, which was 
found in a sitting posture, and was a female five feet and ten 
inches in height. She was found with all her wardrobe in per- 
fect preservation, her body shrunk, but the skin perfect and en- 
tire and may have lain there for ages, so perfectly does the dry 
air of the cave preserve everything that is placed in it. The 
flesh was hard and dry, firmly knit to the bone. There 
were magnificent head-dresses of towering plumes in her vault, 
seven in number. She wore a necklace of led hoofs of 
fawns. Needles of bone were in her grave. She was 
wrapped in deer-skins, which were elegantly imprinted with 
figures of white vines and loaves. She had the features of a 
tall, handsome American woman ; her forehead was eminent- 
ly intell actual. 

Not a sound was heard when they had withdrawn from 
the crackling of the fire to realize the solemnity and gran- 
deur of the temple. A silence gloomy, fearful, held sway 
in this vast charnel-house of the ages. Familiaiized with the 
idea of ancient American nationalities as the author had be- 
come from the investigation of innumerable authorities and 
the evidence of material temples and sculptures, he was to 
some extent prepared for the overwhelming power of this 
vast sepulchral scene. Far above him swept away the 
dark line of the mausoleum's roof. In the distance a strange 
gloom gathered and waited for his advance ; on every side 
was distance and doubt, and beneath his feet slumbered the 
dead ; men that may have been old as the mummies of 
Egypt, so devoid is the place of the elements which produce 
decay, heat and moisture. Here was a subterranean temple 
suggestive of the horrible Mithraic rites, whose priests sought 
oaves to sacrifice their human victims. Here may have 
roiled the voices of Scandinavian hierarchs, offering their 
mutilated prisoners to the gods of Walhalla. Screams of 
terror and agony may have echoed through this mammoth 
vault from heroes who quailed not in the fierce shock of bat- 
tle. Up to the lofty summit of the stone Sacrifleatorio of 
Central America the priests carried their naked victim be- 
iSore the assembled multitudes, and extendit^ him upon the 


WAstm&t. 


m 

&itar held him firmly, until the cliief priia«t with a flint 
open his breast, tore out his palpitating heart, and held it 
aloft in offering to the sun. His dying eyes at least couU 
look upon the light of his God before they closed forever. 
But the inhuman rites which sought the caverns suggested 
an abandonment of humanity, which thrills the finest fibres of 
nervous torture in the Christian heart, and renews the ador- 
ation of that Saviour who inaugurated a reign of gentleness, 
kindness, peace. 

But this was only the vestibule of the cave. At the word 
of command the guide advanced to the grand gallery or main 
cavern. The tunnel before them extended on, on, and still 
on, for many miles, now retaining for great distances its 
average width and height of fifty feet, then slowly curving 
downwards into a chapel seventy feet in height and nearly 
one hundred feet in width, the pulpit of rock, and the organ- 
loft behind it, apparently as perfectly fashioned as if the 
chisel of man had wrought them. A thousand persons could 
comfortably find accommodation in this church. Passing on- 
ward they came to a point where looking upward they be- 
held a gallery sweeping across their way and connecting a 
cave on the right and above them with another cave on the 
left and above them. The guide mentioned that mummies 
well preserved had been found in these upper caves. In one 
of them was seen a pool of jet-black water ; in another was 
a ceiling smooth and white as marble. Near to the latter 
was the Gothic Chapel, eighty feet long and fifty feet wide. 
Stalagmite columns of cream-colored rock and of gigantic 
size nearly closed up the ends of the church. Away do^vn 
the nave swept two rows of small and graceful columns 
formed of the same cream-colored stalagmites and stalactites, 
and when the guide built fires at several points and the illu- 
mination revealed the sublimity and gorgeousness of the 
architecture, the author felt a thrill of rapture and delight 
which he had never known in the exquisite basilicas of 
E^ope. The crystals of the stalactite formations flung out 
so dazzling and glorious a scene of religious architecture, 
gi’aceful and fairy-like in the slender jx^ndants of the vaulted 
roof, the artificial chandeliers, and the semblances to saints 
and angels behind the altar, that for a moment he fancied 
the hea\euly illusions of a dream were upon him, and he be- 
held a temple of the hereafter in keeping with the great 
white throne of God. 

U 


m 




Then the guile pointed out to him a great stalagmite ddV 
umn, in which was a natural seat, large and comfortable, 
named The DeviFs Arm-Chair. At the foot of the chair 
was a pool of sulphur-water. Continuing still along the 
Gothic Avenue, on which stood the exquisite chapel that 
had fascinated him, he found a pool of crystal water into 
which the supplying stream fell in a miniature cascade 
from the roof of the cave, i’assing a huge rock, which nearly 
blocked up their way, they reached Napoleon’s Dome, then 
the Crystal Pool, a miniature lake, and then Annett’s Dome, 
a spot of wonderful beauty and exquisite creamy stalactite 
formations. A cascade fell from the ceiling of this dome, 
which glistened like silver in the flash of the lamps, and then 
M andered away into a great pit called the Cistern, full of 
water at all times. 

Leaving, reluctantly, the wonders of these upper caves, 
tiiey descended to the main cave by a flight of rocky steps, 
and, resuming their onward march, once more entered the 
Ballroom. The cave at this point stretched away before 
them smooth, wide, and clear of all obstructions for several 
hundred feet. Here was an orchestra, twelve feet in height, 
that could seat a hundred musicians. Honored by the pres- 
ence of the beau sexe, brilliantly illuminated and properly 
and evenly floored, this would be the most magnificent as- 
sembly-room within the limits of e£u*th. Onward they 
passed to Willie’s Spring, flowing from a fluted column in 
the wall, and then discovered before them a huge rock named 
the Giant’s Coffin from its perfect formation. They were 
now in the region of the beautiful stalactite and stalagmite 
for-nations on the walls, which gave in cream-color, gray, or 
snowy white, the images, in relief, of every bird and beast 
that haunts the earth, and every flower that raises its beau- 
tiflil head from the tropics to the poles. Here the author 
discovered the sacred lotus of India and Egypt, the repre- 
sentations of which, on the monuments of Palenque, convince 
many savans that those wonderflil ruins are of East Indian 
origin. At every step the exquisite enchantment of the 
scene was augmenting. Soon the Great Bend was reached, 
where, with a tremerdous curve, the tunnel changed its 
course, and immediately after resumed its former direction. 
Then with eager steps the author folloTved Stephen into the 
Star Chamber. Far away above him was arched the sem- 
blance of the firmament- Stars glimirered Bf>ftly in theli 


WAJWtcir. 


411 

stalactite beds, and a comet, with long, luminotts tall, startled 
by its marvellous likeness to reality. On and still on th^ 
pressed, kneeling to crawl through Proud Man^s Misery, 
and standing erect at length in the Solitary Cave, and then 
pushing onward to the Fairy Grotto. Here the fantastic 
variations of the white stalactites and stalagmites had given 
the shapes of fluted columns, vast forests of branch coral, 
seats and flowers of white shells, nymphs balancing upon one 
foot on the point of uplifting stalagmites, and shrubs and 
miniature trees with branches pointed with rock crystal. 
Constant Earle seated himself upon a shell which had re- 
called the idea of a huge fairj’^-boat, and revelled in the ideal 
beauty of the scene. At every motion of the lamps some 
new and exquisite creation of snow-white loveliness appeared. 
The enchantress of the cave had here established her boudoir. 
Thrilled, overwhelmed, by the intense loveliness and purity 
of the spot, his poetic nature brought the tears of exultation 
to his eyes. Every nerve in his being acknowledged the 
exquisite beauty and sweetness of God’s gentle touch. 

Ah ! Nacoochee,” ho murmured, could you sit beside 
me at this instant, and drink in this divine gentleness and 
delicacy of our Father’s power, I could die hero. Oh, ‘ if 
there be an Elysium on earth it is this, it is this 1 ’ ” 

He was interrupted in his dreamy reverie by the voice of 
the tall mulatto, who was standing apart with uplifted torch, 
and forming a striking contrast to the fairy vision. 

“ I muss interrupt you, Massa Earle, sans fa^Ofu Dor’s a 
heap of trabbellin’ afore us yet.” 

“ Why, Stephen,” exclaimed the author, rising at the call, 
“ you’re a French scholar. You speak admirably.” 

The mulatto was delighted. He prided himself upon the 
terms he had picked up from visitors, above everything on 
earth. He vowed internally that Massa Earle was the most 
elegant gentleman he had ever encountered. If there was 
one compliment he valued above another from mortal man, 
it was recognition of his fragmentary erudition. He stood 
at least an inch taller at the words, gave his felt hat a touch 
of acknowledgment, flung his torch aloft, and moved proudly 
onward, ejaculating, “I’s seed a heap of gentlemen Inr 
spoolin’ die cabbern in my day. But, Massa Earle, you 
,hab de mose distinguh air ob de hole crowd.” With this 
eafhtj'VaJve of his overdiarged and grjitaftil heart, he pro 


m 


ftjMmax. 


oeeded to point otit new wonders and cosammicate tlieb 
names. 

After leaving tlie Fairy Grotto, they le-entered the main 
cave at a point caJled the Cataract, where their torches re- 
vealed the foaming and tumbling current of some unknown 
stream. Immediately after they reached The Temple, an 
anbroken chamber which covered two acres of ground, and 
over it was spread a single dome of rock. This superh 
cavern alone was larger than the cave of Staffs. The 
height of the dome was one hundred and twenty-five feet. 
The domes of the largest basilicas of Europe appear tame 
beside a miignificent sweep of solid rock overarching two 
acres of space. They examined this superb subterranean 
temple by the glare of many fires which they kindled in 
every direction. The consciousness of being beneath the 
earth and viewing such a triumph of natural architecture was 
almost appalling. An accident to their supply of lighting 
materials would have found them miles away from the mouth 
of the cave, enveloped in a darkness from which nothing 
could ever rescue them, save the accidental arrival of a new 
party with lights and guides, which was not likely to occur 
at that late season of the year. So environed were they by 
immense pits that advance or retreat in any direction with- 
out lights would be certain destruction. No ray of light 
had ever been known to enter the Mammoth Cave save by 
the narrow entrance now miles away. On every side were 
winding avenues which had never been explored. Doubt, 
danger, horror, envelop at once the guide who undertakes 
new exploration. Their course was onward, until they 
should have visited the nine fiiilee of cave which the guide 
was familiar with. 

They examined the Bowl, a chamber one hundred feet in 
diameter ; they descended the Steeps of Time ; they explored 
the Deserted Chambers, terrific and desolate with their 
white ceilings ; they found footprints worn in the rocks at 
Elchardson’s Spring ; they gazed into the horrible gloom of 
the various pits in the Deserted Chambers, the Covered Fit, 
the Side-Saddlo Pit, and last -of all the Bottomless Pit. As 
Constant Earle gazed down into this fearful abyss, ahapec 
like a horse-shoe by a tongue of land which projects into It, 
his heart for an instant failed him. Should this uuexplor^ 
horror be more dangerous than he had anticipates! , should 
iSie iTipe, by any abrasion with projecting of rock, - 


p-JLMtmSi. 


m 


Ifeak, where would Ms immortal soul find lodgment? l\ 
had received the appellation bottomless; rocks burled into it 
gave back no report of their having found a bed. Torches 
hurled into it had disappeared in space, twinkling away in 
the fhr distance like the red light of the planet Mars, and 
then, fading into sparks of fire, had disappeared in the black- 
ness of the unknown. Was the undertaking wise? One 
could not look into that gloomy depth without a shudder. 
His life would be suspended over space, dependent upon the 
strength of the fibres of a rope, and the skill of Stephen iit' 
managing the windlass. Everything was in readiness in a 
small cave near at hand. The windlass had been brought 
in by guides and deposited there with huge coils of rope. 
No one knew its destination, or the purpose for which they 
had brought it, but the stanch reticent mulatto who stood 
before him, watching every expression of his handsome face. 
He stooped and lifting a huge fragment of a fallen stalactite 
hurled it into the abyss ; it parted the darkness and dis- 
appeared. He listened patiently for the crash below ; one, 
two, three, four, five seconds ; no return came from below ; 
he knelt and listened for sbrty seconds ; a shudder chilled 
him. Was there indeed no bottom, f No response had come 
back from the missile. He flung another and another into 
the pit ; the same mysterious silence reigned down in the 
dar^ess. He looked up at the face of the guide. Stephen’s 
teeth were exposed in his merry laugh. 

“I don’t reckon you’ll try dat well, Massa Earle,” he 
said, shaking all over with laughter. 

“You don’t know the Earle tribe, Stephen.” Then he 
added, after one more glance at the yawning mouth of the 
abyss, “ But go on and exhibit the rest of your black do- 
main. The pit will be more serious than I anticipated. I’ll 
have a good rest to-night after we have seen everything that 
the ordinary run of visitors have explored. To-morrow 
we’ll be here bright and early, and then, God willing, I’m 
going down into that black den of Pluto. Drive on now. 
What is your next curiosity on the programme ? ” 

“ You goin’ down dar sure enough, Massa Earle?” 

“ Just as sure as you are boim, Stephen.” 

“ Well, massa, vou be sure enough scientific j regular 
grit, a perfect outre. Is dat right expression? ” 

’ ' rminatioia admirably, ?^teph^ 



414 


wjj&mcx. 


The guide tamed away fix>m the yawning gloom of th< 
pit and conducted the visitor along the Winding Way, and 
then through Persico Avenue, which was two miles long and 
fifty feet wide with an average height of thirty feet. A part 
of the distance it was firmly arched above, and so smooth 
and perfect under foot that a large party might indulge in a 
race at full speed. A branch of this avenue diverges to the 
river. From the point where this branch leaves it, Persico 
Avenue assumes a character more sublime and diversified. 
The arch above soars away higher and more magnificently 
towards the surface of the earth. The Gothic arches and 
pendants and fretted roof are suggestive of the ancient 
cathedrals. Finally a descent conducted the visitor through 
a narrow tunnel of white incrustations, which brought him 
out at the Great Crossings where two caves cross each other. 
Continuing on, the guide pointed out the Pine Apple Bush, 
a column of white stalagmite reaching to the ceiling, with 
branches spreading from it in perfect imitation of the trop- 
ical plant. Then be traversed the short but lofty Relief 
Hall, which led to River Hall. At this point two routes 
presented themselves, one leading to Bacon Chamber, the 
Bandit’s Hall with a chain of mountains through it, and 
various other apartments, one of which, the Mammoth Dome, 
has been pronounced the most sublime subteiTanean wonder 
in creation. As the author gazed upward to that stupen- 
dous dome rearing itself four hundred feet in air, lighted by 
the fires kindled by the guide on every side, and marvellously 
glorious in the sailing train of sparks borne aloft by the sky* 
rockets fired by Stephen’s skilful hand, or the colored balls 
of fire shooting upward from the Roman candles, he shouted 
in the enthusiasm of the moment, waving his hat towards 
the vault, and then, grasping a handful of Roman candles, 
ran away to the far extent to add to the glory and grandeur 
of the spectacle. He was thrilled, exultant, enthusiastic, 
forgot the dangerous expedition upon which he had come, 
and gave himself up wholly to the fascination and brilliancy 
of the scene. 

When the fires died away, and darkness once again re- 
turned to its subterranean realm, the guide conducted him 
to the entrance of River Hall, which led away downward 
rapidly and far, like the side of some huge mountain, deep, 
deep into the bowels of the earth. Above his head the root 
was seen sl<:^ing, like his foot-path, downward towards tb« 




m 


l(iibterrAiie«m river ahead. He paused at the suggestion of 
the guide to look down over a precipice at his left. Here 
again the guide had deposited piles of wood for fires, in whose 
glare a broad sea of black, frightful water was revealed far 
below. When the fires had enveloped wholly the logs, thev 
rolled them down the cliffs, and in the hideous, unearthly 
glare of their burning the solemn and awe-girdled Dead Son 
revealed all its demon-like gloom and suggestive destruction. 
It seemed as if fiends had delayed their coming and an- 
other instant would reveal their leering faces on the black 
borders of this Stygian lake. 

Continuing the descent they reached at last a valley filled 
with gigantic masses of broken rocks, through whose mys- 
terious passes came the roar of falling waters. Through 
this unearthly scene glides the black, gloomy waters of the 
river Styx. A boat was moored to the shore, and securing 
their lamps in the prow they pushed out upon the appalling 
flood. The lamps were reflected in the stream ; aU else was 
dark. Occasionally they floated near a gloomy rock rearing 
its head from this river of death. The uncertainty of the 
route added solemnity to the scene. Silently the author 
moved across the stream, propelled by the oar of his Charon, 
and peering into the darkness ahead. It was the most 
solemn and impressive moment of his life, drifting upon this 
unknown blackness and far beneath the surface of the 
earth. Gaining the opposite shore they disembarked 
and continued their march until they reached the banka of 
another stream called the River Lethe. Again entering a 
boat they descended the stream a quarter of a mile, and 
landing found themselves in a lofty cavern called the Great 
Walk, which led them to the bank of still another stream, the 
Echo, which is wide and capable of floating the largest 
vessels. As they entered a third boat they found the rocks 
close above their heads. Bending low to escape contact 
with the arch, and after gliding forward a few feet, they oaw 
the arch above them rapidly receding in the distance and 
forming a spacious vault above. The scenery was mag- 
nificent, revealed by their torches and rockets, and they 
glided away three quarters of a mile to the opposite shore. 
The author scooped up in a bag net a number of tlie white 
fish which frequent this black river, and found afterwards, 
upon examination with a microscope, that they were destitute 
9f eyes, that organ being valueless in this realm of utteff 


411 




darkness. Beyond the river they walked four miles id 
Cleveland’s Avenue, passing through El Ghor, Silllman’i 
Avenue, Wellington’s Gallery, and Mary’s Vineyard. Cleve- 
land’s Avenue proved to be an enormous cavern, replete 
with those wonderful stalactites which are more gorgeous 
in their glistening whiteness than ideal dreams of fairy- 
land. In this extensive avenue were heights which the ^ide 
ascended with his lamp and denominated the Rocky Moun- 
tains. The author clambered up after him, and aided in the 
building of fires which revealed the white and silvery glory 
of the place. They were standing amid the white palaces 
of the pure and beautiful, and surrounded by the distui^i 
shadows of the envious and watchful demons of Hades. 

Weary at length of the endless variety of beauty and 
horror, they turned their steps towards the realms of light. 
Many miles of travel lay between them and the mouth of the 
unequalled Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, the wonder and the 
glory of the Western Hemisphere. 


e^s]iter ravi. 

JPaoilifl desoecsfui Avemo: 

Sad ravoeara graduia, raparasqaa evaaM« ad aurM, 

Hea epnf, hio labor eat 

VUMHL. 

Twro men stood in the gloom of the “ Deserted Oh^bera ” 
bolding their torches aloft in the darkness. They wtre look- 
ing down into a strange abyss, deeper and more mysterious 
than 'the ancient copper-mine of Fahlun. That venerable 
shaft, believed to have been worked before the Christian era, 
extends into the bowels of the earth two thousand two hun- 
dred and forty feet. The black pit into which the two seriouf 
faces were peering was believed in the vernacular of the 
Great Cave to be bottomless. Would the resolute s^ion of 
a fearless stock persist in the exploration? As the guide, 
awed by the uncertainties of the contemplated exploit, looked 
at the handsome countenance of his companion, he discovered 
seriousness, but no indication of quailing. The blue 
W#8 dark and ?ts pupil expanded in the torchli^i 


WAJUmCK. 


41 ! 


szBaU, delicate moutli was fixed ia expression, but so blanch- 
ing of the lips told of fear. The face wore the thou^htfui 
expression of the savant earnest in the interest of science 
weighing well the hazards and hopeful of the advantages of 
the descent into the unknown. The imagination of a poetic 
nature at length recalled images of hon-or. Might not the 
adventure place him securely in the power and the retreats 
of the fabled gnomes ? He wondered if those internal inhab- 
itants of mother earth were vulnerable by the revolver which 
peeped out from the bosom of his buckskin jacket. He 
turned at length to the guide, saying, cheerily : — 

“ Fm all ready now, Stephen. Give my lamp a twist or two 
of the rope before you hook on to my belt. Let the handle 
of it hang within two or three feet of my head ; then if I want 
it I can climb up hand over hand and detach it. I’m going 
to carry my grandfather’s umbrella to push m3^self clear of 
the rocks, when they crowd me too close. I must carry a 
small bag of provisions, for there’s no telling when I may 
come back. "V^en the bag is emptied into my stomach I 
can fill it again with geological specimens, which I shall 
knock oflf with my hammer when I’m coming up.” 

“ I ’spects, Massa Earle, it’ll bother ye a heap to git at 
de lamp ag’in.” 

“Never fear, Stephen. I learned in the gymnasium to 
dimb a rope hand over hand. I’m sailor enough for that.” 

The handle of the lamp was soon looped into the rope and 
the hook a few feet below it was caught into the iron ring at 
the back of the adventurer’s belt. The rope passed several 
times around the cylinder of the windlass, and then wandered 
away into the darkness of the cave in huge coils. An ample 
supply had been laid in for all contingencies, and when the 
first that passed around the cylinder should be exhaustod, 
loops were ready at the ends of other coils to be attached 
and lowered into the pit. 

“ Now, Stephen, give mo a farewell shake of your hand, in 
case of accidents. Lower me very slowly, for I want lo in- 
spect the rocks and their geological formation. If you hear 
my pistol fire, wind me up to you ; if not, don't attempt to 
raise me under twelve hours. Good-bv, old fellow.” 

With a palling shake of the hand he approached the edge 
of a cliff which projected a few feet over the gulf, and where 
iron wheel grooved on the periphery was secured to 
geive the descending rope. The guide assisted him over 


4XS 


ir>4ijir2eir. 


edge, and placed the rope in the groovo of the wheel. Thea 
he returned to the windlass, cast off the clogs, and commenced 
to turn the cylinder. 

Slowly, carefully, descended the human life, swinging ovei 
fethomless space, suspended by the iron ring which was se 
cured in his belt behind. The lamp above his head cast its 
rays over a narrow circle, but broad enough to give a full 
view of the solemn rocks. After a time his perpendicular 
line of descent brought him near a projecting spur of the 
subterranean cliff. He discovered that ho was passing sub- 
carboniferous limestone, whose wa.tdcrfully cavernous char- 
acter has rendered the State of Kentucky so famous. He 
glanced then downward, and shuddered at the awful black- 
ness which his feet were cleaving. One glance upward re- 
vealed the steady glare of his lamp close above, and ho saw 
far away through the darkness the lamp of the guide secured 
in a cleft of rock and diminishing gradually in size. Slowly 
and solemnly his body descended in the darkness, and when 
he looked upward again the guldens lamp glimmered like a dis- 
tant star. Carefully he inspected the adamantine walls of the 
pit about him, their even strata or cavernous openings, into 
which ho peered in vain for a terminus, witnessing for 8ie first 
time, probably, the vision of a human face. He was at length 
in the midst of utter silence. The creaking of the windlass 
which for a long time had reached his ear had gradually 
grown fainter and fainter, until at last it was heard no 
more. Could Stephen have paused in his labor ? No I the 
changing features of the rocks indicated that every instant 
he w&s going lower. The last feeble clicking sound of 
human origin had died away in distance, and he was alone, 
hanging over the black emptiness of space. It was unmanly 
to think of apprehension yet. Might not the bottom of the 
hoiTid gulf be near? He thrust his hand into the breast of 
his buckskin jacket, and, drawing forth a fragment of stalaC' 
tite larger than his fist, dropped it at his feet. How eagerly 
he listened I He could hear the palpitations of his heart. 
One, two, three, four. Jive, six seconds. No response camo 
from below. He counted on to sixty. All was silent as the 
grave. Where had it gone? Was the pit bottomless? 
Was it a tunnel only to eternity? A shudder, an over- 
whelming awe crossed him. But still, slowly, surely, con- 
stantly, he moved downward. One consciousnes^a had super- 
Jlsded, swallowed up, all others. One moncsyllable reigned 




41^ 


in his lone, isolated intellect, d^h. Was the S’agment of 
Btalactite still sweeping downward below him ? Not a breath, 
not a whisper of sound had returned from the antipodal black- 
ness. In the horror and uncertainty of fatiiomless space 
below he looked up to his sole salvation above, the dura- 
bility and strength of the fibres of the single rope which held 
nis life suspended as a lamp. Every memory of appalling 
and pendent danger he had ever heard or read of came to 
lim then. He remembered men whose hair had instantly 
•nrned gray when they beheld the fibres of a ropa yielding 
line by one above them. Was his support perfectly and in- 
Adlibly secure? Were there no flaws in the rope? Was no 
abrasion of the rope against a rocky angle of the cliffs above. 
At that moment going on ? He swung against the wall of the 
dit at that instant. His feet swept against the side, and 
then his body touched the rock, and the lamp above him 
clashed against it. What could that mean ? The law of the 
perpendicular had e\ddently met with an obstacle, slight, It 
was true, but fearfrilly suggestive. The slight interference 
with his descent recalled again with terrible distinctness the 
danger of future abrasion. Some cliff-edge might be sharp 
as a knife. Then would ensue the sudden sweep downward 
to destruction. Ah I he touched the side again, and Instantly 
a cloud swept over him enveloping him in total darkness. 
His eyes were closed, and he could not raise the lids. Some- 
thing clammy as death enwrapped him from head to foot. 
It was not death, but horrid, disgusting, suffocating life. 
He was wrapped from head to foot in clammy blackness. 
Every insh of his face, hair, shoulders, arms, and body were 
enveloped with horror, tremulous, living hon'or, and he 
could not open his eyes, could not raise his arms fi*om his 
side, and the weight of the clammy mass was doubling and 
thipkening upon him every instant. Even his lamp was en- 
veloped in sheets of accumulating blackness and clammy 
life. Not one effort could be make to free himself. He 
could only tremble. His eyelids were glued together and 
his heart called on God. Slowly downward into blackness 
he descended, and his black pall was tremulous and quivering 
life. He was the centre of a disgusting mass of tens of 
thousands of swarming black ba^. Slowly he descended in 
suffocating silence, when, lo I the overwhelming mass 
serted him as suddenly as they had come. He opened his 
eyes upoa a lateral cavern, where loiid« of bats were 


WAUfmx. 


iid 

sweeping away from him, sod where he could see them cling 
lag to the walls aud roof in myriad groups, or festooned from 
rock to rock and clinging to each other. The reality of the 
danger he had escaped was manifested an instant after he 
had passed the bat cavern. His descent was suddenly 
nhecked. There he was suspended in space, with his lamp 
lighting the gloom about him. After an instant^s reflection 
he concluded that he had reached the end of his rope, and 
that the fearfUlly remote Stephen was attaching another coil. 
He remained undulating slowly in space, and realizing that 
had the rope given out a score of feet above, he should have 
been suffocated to death by the bats. While the operation 
of attaching more rope was going on, he examined the rock 
close beside him. It was evidently sandstone. No doubt 
he had penetrated deep into the primary fossiliferous or 
paleozoic class of rocks. He concluded, upon further inspec- 
tion, that he was amid the Devonian gioup, and that the 
Silorian group of rocks was still below him. 

All was silence and gloom beyond the narrow circle illu- 
mined by the rays of his lamp. Close before him were the 
rocks he had examined, and when he whirled himself about 
he saw that the pit was bordered on that side by a cavern 
Bti’etching away before him, apparently vast and lofty as 
those he had examined nearer the surface of the earth. 
Suddenly he felt his feet cleaving space again. He was de- 
scending once more. Hope and assistance were being parted 
from him farther and farther at every revolution of that re- 
mote cylinder. Where was this all to end? Gradually the 
sides of the pit parted from him also, widening away from 
him until they, too, were lost in the gloom. His lamp re- 
vealed no longer a single object upon which the eye could 
rest. He was apparently suspended in unlimited space. 
Even the friendly sides of the abyss had left him, and the 
measureless gloom grew painful. Anxiously he drew another 
fragment of stalactite from his bosom, and dropped it below 
him. His acute ear listened long and well. No response 
came back. The fragment was still cleaving its way down- 
ward. It might have miles yet to travel before it found e 
resting-place. Silently on and on descended that terrified 
soul. After a period which seemed to be hours to him, 
be ceased the descent, and hung silently as before. Noth- 
ing was around him but black space. Was it best to oo». 
Unue so hopeless an exploration ? Should he still seek thf 


WAMWim, 


m 


bottom of & bottomless pit? While his reason suggested 
return, his indomitable will induced him to withhold that 
shot from his pistol which would announce his abandonment 
of the search. Would that shot help him? This became an 
appalling doubt. It was a serious question whether or not 
the noise of that discharge would now reach the far-off guide. 
While he debated the matter in his mind, a new coil of rope 
had evidently been attached, and he was descending again 
slowly, slowly passing down into black, horrible immensity. 
Minutes rolled away and still he met nothing, saw nothing 
but the narrow circle of light, horrifying intense darkness. 
He grew nervous at length and ardently longed for a solid 
of some kind to loom into sight. Vain hope ! On and on, 
silently downward he moved. 

When the descent ceased again and no object had made 
its appearance, he decided to give the signal for return. He 
could no longer endure that terrible undulating in space, that 
silence fearfUl as death, that consciousness of isolation from 
man and material objects. Even a vile bat would have been 
a relief. He could endure it no longer. He drew his revol- 
ver and fired. The flash lighted up a broad sphere of dark- 
ness around him apparently boundless. A terrific roar came 
back to him at last, deafening in its echoes, but so long, so 
tardy in its response, that the concussion made by the shot 
seemed to have travelled away miles into the lateral dark- 
ness before it met the hidden rocks. What waa his horror 
to discover that his signal had failed! The terrible rope 
commenced again its downward course ; he descended with 
It, and in his agony fired another shot from his revolver. 
The same tardy, fcarftil response came back, and down, 
down, down, he passed into gloom and blackness unutterable. 
There was no hope now. He must continue his downward 
career until the rope was all exhausted, or the appointed 
number of hours had elapsed. He resigned himself sullenly 
to this exhausting result of his temerity, and, summoning 
all his fortitude, braced himself for the unlmown depths still 
below him. He counted seconds, minutes, hours away, and 
still the rope descended with him, sometimes pausing for 
fresh reinforcement to its length, and then slowly, slowly 
moving down again. It could not be possible that the pit 
had no bottom. The idea was absurd ; the coinage of some 
Vjhle brain that had exhausted itself in a few experiments 
with fragments of rocks. He rcsolTed to try imsH more the 
H 


m 




flight of » rock* He drew from his bosom the last repfs^ 
sentative of the rocky world above him. He dropped th« 
last fragment of stalactite into the blackness he was cleaving 
with his feet. It passed away from his hand and was heard 
no more than its fellows which had preceded it. All was 
silence. The stalactite had dropped into bottomless im- 
mensity. 

At this instant he heard a sharp snap above his head. 
He grasped the rope behind his neck, and by the sheer 
power of the muscles of his arms drew himself upward, hand 
over hand towards his lamp. The light revealed distinctly 
the few feet of rope above his head. Horror ! the snap had 
not deceived him. The attrition of sharp rocks had cut the 
rope between his head and the lamp, and it was giving way 
strand by strand. As he struggled upward, another snap 
and another followed sharply. He desperately grappled the 
rope to raise himself above the breaking point. His struggle 
hastened the catastrophe. Another strand snapped above 
his upper hand, and instantly the rope broke just below the 
lamp. He fell like a cannon-ball after the stalactite, and 
left his lamp swinging in mid-air. Fleet as an arrow sped 
from a bow he passed down through the swift smk of the 
air, lost. 

At what point in this flight ^downward through space must 
death have ensued? A law of physics declares that the 
whole spaces passed over by a falling body, starting from a 
state of rest, are proportional to the squares of the times 
employed in falling, while the spaces fallen through in suc- 
cessive times increase as the odd numbers one, three, five, 
seven, etc. Assuming that, at the latitude of the Mammoth 
Cave, his body would have fallen sixteen and a half feet in 
the first second, then, according to this law, the second sec- 
ond would have found him forty-eight and a quarter feet 
lower in space, and the ninth second would have seen him 
rushing downward into darkness more than one thousand 
three hundred feet from the point where his body started to 
fall. But it is believed that in falling immense distances 
human life becomes extinct in mid-air. At some point then 
In that subterranean darkness the body and soul of Constant 
Earle must have parted company, the one continuing on in 
Hs ever-increasing velocity downward, and the other sailing 
swiftly upward like a star through the darkness to its celes- 
fclfiJ home. Assuredly, if ever a mortal could properly and 


WABWKak. 


m 

reasonably expect to secure at death a residence aiiiong the 
stars, that blissfhl fate was reserved for the author who had 
struggled so manfully to please God. 

But his hour had not yet come. Downward and still 
downward he sped. Rocks, enormous and broken, passed 
him in his flight ; caverns, dark and hidden in eternal gloom, 
swept past him. He cleared the strata of the Silurian 
group, he entered the region of the Cambrian group, he flew 
past masses of gneiss, granite, ciystalline rocks. Merciflil 
Heaven I was he en route for Pluto’s realm ? At length he 
paused, not with a terrific crash against a rocky bottom, not 
mutilated and torn limb from limb, but gently subsiding 
upon his feet upon a firm foundation, deeper in the bowels 
of the earth than any of his race had ever penetrated before 
He shook from head to foot in terror ; he was in total dark- 
ness, imprisoned in a dungeon and a gloom, where heroism 
and fortitude were impossibilities, were simply myths. One 
heroism alone was left to him, a Christian’s resolution to 
die patiently and well. Thousands of feet beneath a cavern, 
whose entrance was miles away upon the surface of the 
earth, what could he do but pray and suflTer and die ? He 
soon dropped to his knees and prayed earnestly to God for 
CTace to die patiently, calmly, serenely, in that excessive, 
horrid darkness. Darkness pressed upon him in agony, 
darkness inexpressible. He forgot not The Evening Star in 
his prayer. She was a part of his life. She might some 
day learn from the public press that a man had disappeared 
in the Bottomless Pit of the Great Cave, who had once been 
her friend, her instructor, her guide. How earnestly he 
prayed that Nacoochee might shed tears at his sad fate, 
might think of his body crumbling to dust where man had 
never crumbled before I Perhaps God would permit him to 
see her in heaven. He implored the God in whom he ever 
trusted to grant him that bright joy in the celestial home, 
the peace of seeing the mutilated girl restored to her pristine 
beauty in heaven and glorified as an angel of light. 

Then he pressed to his bosom the silent friend that had 
prolonged his existence, that had laughed at time and space, 
and in the blackness of that horrid gulf landed him safely 
upon a rock. In his death grapple he had clung to it. In 
that upper reaching of his brawny arms upon the parting 
rope he had grasped it in his firm right hand. The shock 
of the fall and the upward pressure of the air bad expanded 


WARWICK, 


m 


it. Wide open spread its wings and )ore him safely down 
ward through the gloom. He was saved by a parachute. 
The fabrics of the forefathers, and the frames upon which 
they were spread, were no contemptible friends in stiuggles 
with mid-air. The ancestral umbrella had opened and 
saved him in his descent. Gloria tibi, umbraculum I 
He extended the iron-pointed friend out into the darkness. 
It encountered no obstacle. He groped about with It. 
There was rock under his feet and black space before him. 
He cautiously moved forward, feeling for pitfalls. None re^ 
warded his search. Some sudden impulse moved him to 
reverse his course. It was not within the range of meta- 
physical science to explain that impulse. He turned and 
beheld a marvel, a subterranean Star^ gleaming far 
away upon the blackness. It recalled the evening star 
which rises upon night, and The Evening Star which 
arose upon his intellectual despair, Nacoochee. He kneeled 
reverently and blessed the name of God for the gift of the 
star. Death by starlight is sweeter than death in utter 
gloom. He slowly groped along towards the miniature 
star. He wished to die as near to it as God would permit. 
On, on, on, his trembling limbs moved in the direction of 
the far-off subterranean light. He had tediously and slowly 
traversed a mile of darkness when the rays of the star dis- 
tended into moonlight. Was it the hallucination of death? 


Cliapter 

— — if this be Ml I look vpoa, 

(S«M dumed Kysium’e gates, mj shade shall seek for none. 

Btboh. 

With his left hand pressed upon his heart to still its 
violent pulsations, the astonished explorer advanced into the 
mysterious moonlight. It was brightening upon him. 
Already the cavernous vault above him was faintly illumined 
by the far-off flutter of the subterranean luminary. The 
glisten of crystallization was above him and around him, and 
he began to recognize the hypozoic character of the rocks, 
i s be advanced through the narrow tunnel which aeeme4 ^ 


WAAWtCK. 


4H 

lead to the centre of the distant moonlight, the soft wavi 
light which resembled the super-terrestrial glory of the 
moon, strange flashes of yellow glory seemed to fleck the 
walls of the cavern. He started at the apparition and feared 
his imagination was playing strange freaks with the sides of 
his last prison-house. He pressed forward towards the in 
creasing power of his beacon light. The path he was tread 
ing grew more luminous. A more violent flutter of the di^- 
tant orb sent pencils of rays along the cavern, and he started 
back at the sudden gleam of light which seemed to cross his 
path in traces of yellow fire. He kneeled down and waited 
for another and more spasmodic flutter of the light which 
was leading him. It soon came. Great Jupiter I his feet 
were treading upon masses of quartz rock, veined with 
yellow leaves and vines. “ Metamorphic ! ” burst from his 
lips as he bent his eyes to the strange pavement. “ Quartz, 
— gold ! gold I gold ! ” He knelt lower, waiting for anothei 
great flutter of light. His blood was coursing his veins like 
fire. It came, that wonderful pulsation of radiance once 
more, and the whole cavern glowed like the sun for an in- 
stant. Above him, beneath him, around him, was gold and 
quartz, — gold, gold ; he was traversing a subterranean mine, 
richy rich in pure, beautiful gold. He arose in wild rapture, 
and gazed about him ; he saw, for the first time, pendants of 
pure gold hanging from the low ceiling, as if they had 
melted in the action of fire and frozen again ere they fell, 
their long, tapering fingers pointing at him and brilliantly 
flashing when the pulsations of light traversed the cavern. 
Eagerly, madly he pressed forward. Hark! what low, 
distant roll broke upon his ear? He paused in awe to 
listen. It came once more, that subdued, distant, and yet 
solemn roll like the surf breaking upon the ocean beach. 
He became conscious, for the first time, of a gentle, tropical, 
soothing warmth. He wondered and hastened forward ; hia 
path was growing brighter and less arduous at every step. 
It soon became clear and distinct before him. He was 
travelling upon a mosaic pavement of quartz and gold. 
Again the heavy roll from the sea met his ear, and then a 
boom came sullenly over the stillness ; then a shock ensued 
which JaiTcd the arch above his head, and he paused, trem* 
bling in every joint. All was followed by utter silence. 
Again he pressed forward, hearing at intervals that mysteri- 
ous and unknown roil of the surf. Brighter and brightOi 


WA&vriQM.. 


gre^f his path, clearer aud more briUlantly flashed fbrth tlw 
pendants of gold, the long, tortuous stalactites of precious, 
unadulterated metal. Where was he hastening in blended 
awe and rapture ? The glory ahead augmented ; his counte- 
nance was radiant in the advancing brilliancy ; he dashed 
forward, passed an obstructing ledge of quartz rocks, turned 
to the right, and beheld a sight never conceived by mortal 
imagination. Like the great sweep of a cathedrars vaulted 
roof arose before him an arch of suipassing brilliancy, 
formed of quartz rock, encrusted with fantastic ornaments 
and stalactites of pui’e gold. Arch after arch succeeded each 
other before him, and all brilliantly illuminated by distant 
fires, and linked to each other by an ethereal open net-work 
of gold, whose every mesh was distinctly traced in the 
brilliancy of the fluttering fires ahead. Over the magic hall 
was an immense, far-off canopy, a firmament of white crystal, 
upon whose vault fragments of gold glistened like meteors. 
He ran through the subterranean arches, and beheld through 
their supporting columns far-off palaces and temples whose 
spires, and turrets, and mullioned windows were encrusted 
with pure, molten gold, dazzlingly beautiful. The array of 
lofty buildings, graceful and weird, with wreaths of gold 
circling their white / columns, stretched away miles before 
him, and outshone frv extravagance and beauty the Byzan- 
tine basilicas of the Caesars. The central fires of the earth 
had carved away the solid mountains of gold-bearing quartz 
rocks, until they had left only slender columns and arches 
remaining, upon which the molten gold from above had 
fallen, wreathing them with vines, and pointing them with 
pinnacles, until a blaze of magnificence answered to the 
glow of the retreating fires. No Assyrian dream of Ginnis- 
tan, where antediluvian Peris fluttered through halls of 
marble and gold ; no palace of Cosroes, immortalized by th« 
poet Antar, could rival these subterranean basilicas erected 
by the salamander spirits to the secret worship of the 
Eternal. For miles they seemed to glimmer away, and as the 
awed explorer climbed to the summit of a quartz flight of 
steps, which conducted to the tower of a temple, and looked 
down over the scene, he discovered, far away, pools of « 
dazzling brilliancy, over which waves of transparent blood- 
ied fire seemed to play and sparkle, as if rubies had gathered 
to them from ten millions of subten’anean treasuries U 
s%<ilten I’here were fantastic, airy figures of open 


miJimim. 


4#l 

irork gold, clinging to the quartz He saw distinctly 

a Druid clinging to the branches of a golden oak and cut 
ting away with golden sickle the spirifs branch. Atahuallpa, 
the inca, might have collected his ransom here in an hour 
The internal fires, which once had held high revel here, had 
caused the disintegration and crumbling away of the talcose 
and granitic rocks above, and the freed auriferous veins had 
swept their contents down to lower levels, falling in molten 
streams upon quartz palaces and pinnacles, and perfecting 
the magnificence of the architecture. 

Bewildered, paralyzed, by this wonderous chef-d^ceuvre of 
nature, he stood long upon the quartz steps, his eyes ranging 
over new beauties, detecting new glories wherever he turned. 
Far away in the distance lurid flames seemed to vault up- 
ward from huge recesses, and he realized the fearful roll of a 
distant sea of fire. He descended to the floors of the halls 
and palaces, and found that some of them were washed with 
gold. The stream of molten metal haa swept the pavements, 
and there hardened after the retreat of the fires. Feeling 
assured that never more would he view the surface of the 
earth ; that he had fallen beyond the reach and help of mor- 
tals, he prepared for death in this gorgeous mausoleum. He 
knelt upon the glistening, golden pavement of a temple, and 
committed his soul to God who gave it, looking upward 
through the fretted arches to the golden stars on the white 
firmament. In the flush of manly health he dedicated him- 
self to the Conqueror of death. Then he arose, and with his 
geological hammer, which clung still to his belt^ he indented 
upon a tablet of flashing gold the name “ Constant Earle,” 
and beneath it, the inscription on the coffin of Gustavus 
Adolphus, “ Moriens triumph %vit,** Another reflection crossed 
his brain and he covered his face with his hands. The 
agony of that long separation overwhelmed him ; he grew 
calm at length, and, raising his hammer once more, traoo«f 
roughly beneath his motto and his name, “ JVocoocAee, the 
Evening Sta/r** 

Then thoughtfhlly he wandered on and on, the vividness 
of his speedy death yielding at length to the surpassing 
glories of the scene about him. He passed a grotto fashioned 
by the fire from an immense block of pale-red porphjTy. 
Arches and pillars and domes had been carved in it by the 
fire, and molten gold had swept its floors. The famous 
spotted porphyry vase, the largest in the world, which onm 


m 


WARmCS, 


menta the Djur garden of Stockholm, near the palace Boseh 
dal, would have made an appropiate centre-piece to stand 
beneath one of these domes. Farther on he found a plain 
of rock covered with conical mounds of dazzling whiteness 
with a crater at the top of each, as if they had been formed 
by the mineral deposit of springs, like the glistening JETam- 
mdm Shoutin or cursed baths of North Africa. He passed on 
to groups of angels, fashioned from white crystals by the 
fantastic play of intense fires, upon whose heads the molten 
gold had fallen and hardened into glittering crowns solid or 
open. He paused in amazement before one white seraph, 
upon whose crown drops of silver had fallen from some earth- 
quake above, before the gold had hardened. Wandering on, 
he passed a range of chambers fashioned in white crystal, 
the delicate net-work of whose walls admitted the pencils of 
rays from the distant fires. Sitting then upon the rocks he 
devoured the provisions with which Stephen had filled the 
bag, and begged of God in his heart to spare his life, vowing 
that he would discharge the duties of this stewardship as 
mortal had never employed wealth before. He longed to 
live. He knelt and prayed vehemently for life, for life to 
honor God, for life to benefit humanity, for life to aid the 
struggling and meritorious, for life to erect institutions of 
charity and learning. Then, as the ever-recurring memory of 
The Evening Star came back, he murmured, “ O God I give 
me not the agony of life without her love. Wealth would 
burden me without that voice to whisper love and counsel 
beside me.” 

He sat dreamily gazing upon the magnificence of the inner 
earth, searching at times the far-off horizon where the scarlet 
fires played madly in their mission of creation and destruc- 
tion, and then lingering im reverie beside the golden and 
white formations glistening before him like the witchery of 
a dream. It was no dream. He knew that God had 
opened to him that fearful, inner, igneous mystery which 
had baffled the speculations of savans in all ages. He had 
reached a spur, an offshoot of those great central fires of the 
earth which antiquity denominated Hades, but to which 
patient, meek-browed, noble science ascribes the horror of 
the earthquake and the alternate brilliance and gloom of 
the rock-melting volcano. 

As he sat in silence beside his newly found treasure, revel- 
ling In the beauties and marvels of the place, realizing with 


WAnWWK, 


poetic eye every transformation of beauty and grace, and with 
a Christian’s heart adoring the Master architect, he caught at 
intervals the roll of the fire-sea. It was solenin, awe-inspiiv 
ing, and filled him with the fear and honor of his Creator 

Strange sounds reached him at last, sweeping nearer and 
nearer to his place of moderate heat, and he fancied, or really 
heard, the shock of earthquakes, the rumbling of falling 
mountains of rock, or the burst of gaseous explosions, making 
and unmaking terrestrial formations, and slowly preparing 
matter for that great and last dissolution when “ the sun 
shall be darkened, and the moon shall not give her light, and 
the stars shall fall from heaven, and the powers of the 
heavens shall be shaken.” 

He arose at length and made his way in curiosity towards 
the roaring fire-sea and the explosive sounds. He passed 
net-works of stalactites and stalagmites of gold, arches of 
. green porphyry, columns of flesh-colored graphic granite 
spotted with white feldspar, and further on he encountered a 
castle of gneiss, whose Corinthian columns with overhang- 
ing capitals of silver leaves gave distinctly to view their suc- 
cessive strata of quartz, mica, and feldspar. The castle was 
dripping with the rains of silver which some upward rush of 
fire had stolen from vast silver mines above, and which had 
hardened as they ornamented the palace below. At every step 
new transformations appeared. He saw a silver gleam issuing 
from a ragged and upheaved mass of metamorphic rocks. 
And when he had neared the place the fire-light revealed a 
cascade of silver which had rolled from cliff to cliff and stiff- 
ened at every leap, till it remained solid and beautiful in its 
downward undulations. The handiwork of salamanders was 
exquisitely graceful at intervals in the rich and confused 
mass, and he found pyramidal rocks sheathed in silver, and 
trees of graceful hornblende slates bending beneath the 
weight of silver and golden fruit. 

What should be the next step in his singular destiny? 
Where should he turn? Was escape to be dreamed of? 
He looked backward over the route he had come. 
All was beautiful and gorgeous behind him. Before him 
was new wonder and the great sea of fire. Behind him 
was an opening, a hopeless opening upward to the 
great cave just under the surface of the earth. Should 
he return to the bottom of the great pit down which he had 
falioQ and there await, death ? No succw couli reach him 


4S0 


WARWICK. 


^ere. The faithful guide might possibly hurl into the great 
abyss bread for him. It was barely possible ; but the aged 
Stephen was faithful unto death. Everything that mortal 
man could do that honest soul would remember and put in 
execution. Would he hope at all when the broken end of 
the rope and torch came back to the windlass ? He might. 
And those two words decided the course of the lost explorer. 
He knew that the guide had taken unusual interest in him. 
His sympathy and gentleness and manly courage won him 
friends at every turn in the life-path. He swept love and 
devotion into his train with the ease of Ren6 le Bon. 
Charity had been ever his mot d'ordre. It wins in the long 
run, that grand old Christian word. He would return then 
clinging to the feeble shred of hope. 

But he was a scholar. Naught that reigns and moves in 
the cel€(stial vault, no power that slumbers in matter or mind, 
was defvoid of interest to him. He must approach once that 
strange shore upon which the fire-surf rolled so solemnly. 
There might be hazard. What was that to a man who felt 
conscious that hardihood had imprisoned him probably for- 
ever in the most lonely and the most superb mausoleum that 
human fancy ever had conceived ? He kneeled once again to 
his God and implored protection and submission to his 
divine will. Then he moved on towards the subterranean 
sea of fire. 

After crossing hardened streams of blue and drab lava, 
from some extinct volcano which had swept down from the 
rocks in cascades, he encountered a huge wall of black ba- 
salt which had resulted from the cooling of some state of 
igneous fiision. The barrier was pierced by rude gate-open- 
ings through which the red fire-light was casting its rays 
over the plain. The contrast of this black partition was 
striking, as he cast a glance at the white firmament above 
with its golden stars. Passing through one of the natural 
gates, he turned to look back at the basaltic wall. What 
was his surprise to discover against the black mass a rude 
cross of gold formed by some ancient drip from the mine 
above 1 How strangely shone forth in this lonely magnifi- 
cence the symbol of salvation I Tears gathered to his eyes 
at this mute appeal to his Christian h^eart. He bowed in 
spirit before it, and was filled with cheer. The Saviour 
would not forget one for whom he had- died. He passed on 
then, but ever and anon looking back. The cross was viai> 


ir4 


Ble for « great distance against its glooraj basaltic baok- 
mund. It soothed his heart like a whisper from heaven. 
At length he reached a precipice and looked down into a 
great abyss stretching away apparently miles down towards 
the centre of the earth. It was far away below him, and he 
beheld in the immense depth the rolling fire-waves of the in 
tenninable inner sea. Awe-stnick he stood upon the rocky 
mountain-side which seemed to slope away miles to the shore 
of the igneous gulf, and saw mountains of rock in the far dis- 
tance undermined by the waves of fire and hurled into the 
red ocean, granite cliffs melting and flowing- down into the 
fiery flood, and heard the booming of explosive gases split- 
ting the rocks, and the crash of earthquakes rending the 
superimposed strata of adamant and opening passages for 
the far-up groups of geological rocks to tumble into the sub- 
terranean fires. He saw in the distance a stream of melted 
lead falling from the fractured rocks above and pouring into 
the fiery l^e with a glitter like that of the immense and 
brilliant steel mirror which crowned the dome of the sanctu- 
ary in the pmcipal temple of Heliopolis. 

He tum^ away at length from the wild, fascinating spec- 
tacle, wondering at the immense distance of the central fires 
which only wafted to his locality a tropical warmth. He 
returned along the wonderful path he had come, gazing upon 
new and dazzling formations over which ever that distant 
fluttering pulsation of light was marvellously waving which 
had first attracted his attention when he was following the 
solitary star. 


It wmi a temple, luch as mortal kan4 
Has nerer bailt, nor eostasj, nor dream 
Reared in tbe oitiee of enol^nted land. 

Smoturr. 

Bauxet was of the opinion that astronomy was a fam Ua? 
science of the antediluvians, fragments of whose astronomi- 
cal lore have escaped the deluge. Lalande refers the origir* 
of this sHmioe to t.h« Egyptinns. apprebanaive that it mi^l 


m 


rJMsear* 


prove too mnoh for the Secred Books. The Hebrews, how 
ever, the neighbors, cotemporaries, and sojourners among tha 
Egyptians, sustain the conjecture of Bailley, and inform us 
that the latter people derived their astronomical knowledge 
from traditions rescued from the deluge. However this may 
be. Constant Earle was standing far below the surface of the 
earth, intently gazing upon a huge tablet of what appeared 
to be zodiacal signs, series of stars, comets, and hieroglyph- 
ics. He was on the point of entering the long tunnel, which 
would conduct him to the spot to which he had descended 
in his fall, when his eye caught the gleam of a golden band 
fhrther on, and apparently arranged in a great square 
against a cliff of dark rock. He approached the spot and 
beheld a great variety of signs, cycles, and figures of beasts, 
cut in the solid rock by the undoubted instruments of human 
sculpture. It was the labor of human hands. No eye could 
attribute that regular, methodical carving in the rocky wall 
to nature. He realized instantly that it must be the work 
of the great antediluvian astronomer, the brother of Ogyges, 
that wonderM savant who predicted the result of God's 
natural law, through which the avenging deity punished the 
crimes of men, that great coryphaeus of human learning and 
rebellion, who admitted the coming of the deluge, but hoped 
to escape its influence by penetrating the earth and walling 
up the passage behind him. He had carved here the whole 
prediction of the great flood. The ark of his brother was 
traced in the stone, and the family of Ogyges hastening into 
it for safety. The sun, moon, and stars were carved in the 
rocks, and also figures in a great circle, which appeared to 
be z^acal signs. Familiar as the author was with the 
chronological system of tlie Aztecs and their method of dis- 
tributing the years into cycles and of reckoning by periodi- 
cal series, in the place of numbers, so remarkably similar to 
the process of the Mongol race, he could not make out these 
signs. Another cy Je met his eye, which resembled in its ac- 
companying figures the animals which are common to the East- 
ern Asiatics and the Aztecs as symbols of their calendars. 
He puzzled long over the symbols and could decipher nothing. 
But one chain of events he could comprehend. A procession 
of men, women, children, and animals were entering a great 
circle, and descending a flight of steps. A thrill of intense 
anxiety crossed his heart. In that venerable antiquity, no 
doubt the dftspisiff of God, having evety appliance of wwaltk 


WARWWK. 


m 


aad power at his command, had employed thousands ©f his 
subjects to cut stone steps down to the lower caye, of which 
he had secretly learned the existence. If this conjecture 
was plausible, if this herculean labor of years had indeed 
been carried on, was it possible that in the lapse of ages the 
secret stairway could have been preserved? The bare idea 
filled the lost man with a thrill of passionate joy» He would 
•earch for this wonderful spiral stairway. Where would it 
most likely be found, if convulsions and changes of the rocks 
had spared it? Undoubtedly it had been built around the 
rocky sides of the Bottomless Pit. But then he would have 
seen it at some points in his descent, while a lamp had been 
at his command. He abandoned then that conjecture in- 
stantcr, and concluded that some other and more secret pit 
communicated with the great cave above. He studied once 
more the great tablet, with its border of gold firmly secured 
to the rocks. That gave him no ftirther light. He examined 
the mouth of the tunnel which had admitted him to the 
arches and palaces of the subterranean marvel. He dis- 
covered there, what had before escaped his notice, vast Cyclo- 
pean masses of hewn rock scattered about, huge parallelo- 
pipedal blocks of stone which had evidently once blocked 
up the entrance to the tunnel. They were finely squared, 
and resembled the Cyclopean rocks in the walls of Tiryns 
and Mycenae, which are generally assigned to a Pelasgic ori- 
gin. They had been pulled down and scattered perhaps 
when the deluge was over. What, then, had become of the 
ancient astronomer and his family? Had they been over- 
taken by fire from the vast subterranean crucible, as Solon 
had been informed by the Egyptian priests? Where had 
they escaped or attempted to escape when the anger of God 
overtook them with the fiery destroyer? He turned away 
from the tunnel and sought the gold-bordered tablet again. 
He examined it carefully in the fluttering light from the dis- 
tant fires. The signs and hieroglyphics were carved upon 
a broad cliff, smooth and lofty as the sides of a basilica. 
He passed around the ancient monument of human will and 
insane defiance, and, lo I the stairs hewn in the solid rock, 
and circling a new and narrow pit, seemed to mount upward 
into the blackness. He had scarcely dared to hope for this 
result of his conjecture, for this confirmation of his quick 
rendering of the hieroglyph] cal stairs in the ring of the tab- 
let. With that cry or exultation which burst from the lips 


WAntncK. 


m 

of Archimedes, when he discorered la hia bath the iootritiis 
of specific gravities, he fell upon his knees, *— “ Eureka, 
Eureka I ” Then, as the danger of the ascent without a ra,y 
of light, around an unknown pit, and upon antediluvian 
steps which may have been shattered at many points by 
earthquakes, was made manifest, he relapsed again into de- 
spair. Strange fatality ! With the wealth of an empire 
around him, he could not command a rushlight to guide 
him up the ancient stairway. With miles of fire stretching 
away before him, he could not gain one spark to light him to 
safety. Oh, the horror of that thought, that Tantalus 
agony of an ocean of fire before him, to which he could not, 
dared not, approach to seize enough in a fragment of rock to 
light him upward! The intense heat would have melted 
him, miles away from the shore of the billowy fire, had he 
dared to approach it. There was a focus of rays from 
golden and crystal walls which would have annihilated him 
m the distance more efifectually than the refiecting mirrors 
of Archimedes fired the Roman fieet. 

He sat down upon a rock and racked his brain to discover 
some plan of securing a light for the ascent. He searched 
his pockets for a match ; he found two. The exultation 
quickly vanished. Of what use were they to him ? He had 
no torch, no lamp to light. What had he about him that 
would bum? Oh, cotton! He had provided himself for 
rough exploration with a large, coarse, cotton handkerchief. 
Alas! that would not burn, would not light him up that 
fearfhl and unknown height. It would blaze away, perhaps, 
at the touch of a match and speedily be consumed. What 
would that avail him? He had no approximate conception 
of the distance he had fallen after the breaking of the rope 
He knew the descent must have been immense to have 
brought him near an upshooting branch of the central fires 
of the earth. What could he do with the cotton fabric te 
make it available? An idea came swiftly to him. He had 
abandoned part of the fatty substance of the meat which had 
been a part of his meal. He might succeed in finding those 
fragments and saturating the cotton with their grease. He 
hastened away at the thought through the arches and 
temples to the point where he had emptied his bag. To hia 
inexpressible relief he found the fragments of the fatty meat 
and {sroceeded to rub them over his handkerchief. He ex- 
Iraoted every particle of grease that was possible, and then 


WAttmm. 


tmsh^ the fat between rocks tore it into shreds and wound 
It up in torches of the cotton. He had finally in his posses- 
sion a dozen fatty tapers wound with cotton, and two match* 
es to light them. What a slender bundle of hopes with which to 
penetrate through unknown darkness to upper earth, to a cave 
far, far above tdm, in which, it was deemed certain destruc- 
tion to wander without a guide ! He had witnessed the dan- 
gers of that cave ; could he ever penetrate again to it, ever 
succeed in rising through its floor into its fearful darkness f 
It might be miles above him. Most men would have re- 
signed themselves to despair, would have wandered up and 
down the fire-lighted palaces of the inner earth until hunger, 
the wolf, had devoured them. But the lost explorer was an 
Earle. One brother of that indomitable family never aban- 
doned any purpose. The younger brother had implored 
God to grant him strength never to abandon a good one. 
He resolutely prepared for the ascent earthwards. God 
speed him, for with tapers of rags ho would penetrate that 
immense blackness upon which the sun had never shone. 
Was a guardian angel standing beside him at that moment 
of indomitable will? Had her white but invisible wings 
fluttered beside him when he fell, and followed him into this 
subterranean dream of the Ghebers ? He would know before 
many hours, and, trusting himself to his Maker^s care, he 
bade farewell to the retreat of the salamanders, and placed 
his foot upon the lowest step of the antediluvian stairway. 
There he paused to light a match upon the rock. The 
slender origin of light gave out a feeble, sickly blue flame, 
which immediately expired. Merciful heaven I one match 
alone held for him the fate of life or death. He had but one 
more. Carefully, but in fear, he drew it upon his sleeve ; 
instantly the light flickered up, trembled at the end of the 
match, held its own for a second, and then suddenly burst 
out into a yellow flame. He held it to one of his rag tapers ; 
a small but calm flame ensued, and he commenced the ascent 
slowly. Slowly he ascended, scanning every step, with a 
rag taper only between him and death. If that slight flame 
should expire the lamp of life would speedily flicker out. 
According to the belief of the Persian every month was 
under the protection of its angel. He prayed, as he slowly 
moved upward, that every flicker of his feeble light n)igbt 
be similarly guarded. There was apparently little danger 
that sudden guats of wind would extingui iU his tap<jr. In 




m 

that stif)t©rraneaii retreat the Polish deity, Pagoda (calm air\ 
reigned supreme. 

■^at a fearful, and yet sublime spectacle, that solitary 
being, that indomitable and honest soul of -the piesent age, 
stealing cautiously up into gloom impenetrable, along a 
stairway hewn from the solid rock by hands that had 
crumbled in the shadowy ages, — hands that may have com- 
pleted their menial labors for another, and then returned to 
sunlight only to be swept away by the deluge, or hands that 
may have shared the glorious prison-house and the ultimate 
fire-death of the God-despising student of the stars I His 
manly, muscular frame, clad in the buckskin jacket and 
trowsers, a skull-cap surmounting his head, the geologist’s 
hammer at his belt, the taper held aloft in his left hand, and 
the fast friend, the never-to-be-abandoned heirloom of his 
family, grasped as a staff in his right, constituted a. strange 
picture. There was a fearless, defiant, upward curl of his 
light mustache, a clear, eager, searening glance of his 
lustrous proud eye, a,nd an air of resolution and courage in 
every movement of his gracefully limbed body, that told 
how justly he had indented in the tablet of gold his manly 
epitaph, “ Moriens triumphavitJ* 

At length he gained a point where, looking downward 
through the shaft of his winding stairway, he beheld the dis- 
tant light of the inner earth no larger than a star, as he had 
first witnessed it. Continuing his ascent, he turned again. 
The star had vanished. Above, below him now, was nought 
but darkness impenetrable. The taper burned feeblj^, barely 
exposing a half dozen steps above him. But every step was 
immovable rock, carefully chiselled, and yielding him firm 
and even support. Master-workmen had hewn that mar- 
vellous adamantine pathway. There was apparently little 
danger in the ascent, save only in the possible failure of 
light. If strength should hold out to climb, all might be 
well. The stairway might lead to some avenue of the Great 
Care. Should this happy result be attained, he might chance 
to espy the torch of some guide conducting a new party of 
visitors through the avenues. Stephen might be passing 
within hail. How untenable are the positions of hope for a 
man lost in the Mammoth Cave 1 And this poor, lost ex- 
plorer was indulging in the pleasant delusions of escape, 
while the great cavern was far away above him. Would the 
aueient stairs lead to the cave? Would the upper steps be 


mdMwrcx* 


4S1 

open and free where stalagmites were forming from age ta 
age in huge, obstructing columns ? Might not his stairway 
be blocked up at the top, or near the top ? 

The taper was burning low upon his grasp, and he lighted 
another, carefully preserving the fragment of the first. He 
travelled upward until he became dizzy from the monotonous 
character of the ascent. He reached forth to the rocky wall 
for support and staggered on. The pain of fatigue in his 
knees was becoming insupportable, and yet he feared to 
pause and rest. He had no means of preserving light, save 
through his tapers, and if he paused to sleep the light might 
disappear. The agony of falling there in sleep onlv to wake 
in utter darkness was too appalling. He struggled on. But 
''vertasked nature asserted itself at last. He reeled after a time 
against the wall and slept. His last conscious act was brac- 
ing his back against the rock and holding iiis taper firmly 
against his breast that it might not escape him. How long 
he slumbered he had no means of ascertaining. He was 
awakened at last by the flame of the taper burning his hand. 
The fragment nearly escaped him in the start of pain. His 
hand was the socket, and the taper burned low in it. He 
endured the pain like a Spartan until another taper was 
lighted. Then he arose and mounted upward again. After 
another tedious ascent, which seemed to have covered miles 
of distance, he sank down exhausted again. The hazard of 
losing his taper in his sleep was too vivid. He feared that 
sudden start when the fire reached down to his hand. He 
discovered a crevice in the wall, fixed a taper in it and 
lighted it. Then, with another light in his hand, he leaned 
back against the wall and slept again. When he awoke, it 
was from the agony of a dream that his light had vanished. 
The light in his hand had indeed gone out. But the taper 
in the rock still burned, within an inch, however, of its exit.. 
He lighted another, and, saving the quenched fragment as 
before, commenced the ascent again. When would the in- 
terminable fiight of steps cease, — that spiral agony ? He 
toiled upward hour after hour until he was wearied almost 
to death. He was forced to pause at intervals and sit 
down. Human endurance was rapidly giving out. Human 
will remained steady and x>nstant as a star. When, oh, 
when would that upward monotonous tramp^ tramp^ cease? 
At times the perspiration had started to his brow, and he 
bad paused io catch his breath. At times he bad sunk 
ir 


WAMWKX, 


499 

i^ain to sleep, but ever alert to secure his light firoru harm 
Tlie double exhaustion of his tapers at these episodes of 
sleep had alarmed him. Would they hold out? This be* 
came now the agony of thought, and accelerated his pace. 
He knew that he had traversed immense space in his ascent. 
He lighted his last taper in horror. This must light him to 
life, or fall extinguished over his grave. He strove by even, 
uniform steps to husband his strength and yet sacrifice no 
unnecessary time. The light burned lower and lower, and 
still he toiled upward on his winding way. The taper 
burned at last within two inches of his hand. He still as- 
cended, finding no landing-place, and apparently as far from 
the floor of the Great Cave as ever. The light sank lower 
and lower towards his grasping hand. Its warmth already 
reached his thumb and finger. In another instant he could 
endure the heat no longer. Hope was going out in agony, 
physical and mental agony. The fire was burning him. He 
tore the fragments of tapers from his belt, and lighted them 
one by one, holding them aloft and pushing upward. He 
lighted the last fragment and held it high in darkness. 
Then, at the horror it revealed, ho sank down upon the steps 
and the light went out. The stairway was covered with a 
yellow mass of rock which had fallen into it, completely 
blocking it up forever. He was in total darkness, and the 
lid of his mausoleum had been placed over him by the giant 
hand of nature. 

That horrid pall of darkness no tongue can express. He 
prayed earnestly to God. In no danger, in no calamity, had 
faith in the goodness and wisdom of that divine Ruler of 
the universe forsaken him. Then he sat in the gloom of 
his vault and pondered a question of casuistry. Would it be 
wrong for him to seek an early and easy death ? He must 
die by lingering agony. He must starve. One leap from 
the spiral stairs of stone would give him a speedy death be- 
fore he reached the bottom of the pit. Would he offend God 
^ seeking that early death, since death was inevitable? 
Had he the moral right to seek an easy and early death? 
He pondered the mental interrogatory addressed to his soul. 
He decided that the leap into space would be criminal. 
Scarcely had the question been decided, when he heard a 
rambling overhead. Something was surely passing. He 
heard then a muffled call of a human being, and a response 
tame firom apparent]/ a great distance. He arose and 


miJiwTm. 


m 


shoated with all his strength. Alas I it bror^yht no response. 
He drew his hammer from his belt, and^ ascending the fe^ 
steps that remained, dashed it into the rock above. To his 
amazement the hammer passed through the rock. It proved 
to be only a shell of crystallization. A few blows of the 
hammer cleared a space large enough for his head. He then 
broke away the covering until he could crawl up into the 
darkness above. He passed through the aperture, and saw 
that he was in a great cavern, and lights were passing away 
in the distance. He was about to call to the retreating 
lights, when his attention was attracted by a flash upon the 
stalactites near him. He turned, and beheld upon the sum- 
mit of a white stalagmite cliflT, a few rods from him. The 
Evening Star. Like Vesta, with a lamp in one hand and a 
steel-pointed staff in the other, stood Nacoochee upon the 
white cliff, with her hood thrown back, and gazing down into 
the little valley where the bewildered explorer stood in the 
darkness. 


It grldTM m* 

Mveli BMTt, t« whftt I OMAot do for 70a. 

Twnrrs STun*. 

Tboi twelve hours passed by in silence, and no signal 
came from the pit below. The rope was exhausted, and the 
solitary mulatto stood by the windlass in meditation. He 
had examined a little silver watch which informed him that 
the appointed hour for raising the explorer had arrived. He 
had rested from his labors at intervals and applied himself 
vigorously to his meals in a little grotto near at hand. He 
had listened all the while for the report of the pistol. All 
had remained silent as the grave. No sound had attested 
the existence of human life in the abyss. Twice had he 
marvelled at the sound of distant thunder, which appeared to 
enter the “ Deserted Chambers from some cavern far away 
towards the entrance of the cave. It was strange that at 
this late season of the year a thunder -storm should be raging 
«ver tire surface of the earth. He had taken a wonderfty 


44d 


WAMWICSt. 


fancy to his handsome employer, and longed to see hiifc 
safely landed at the top of the Bottomless Pit. “ Ps afraid 
de debhil cotch Massa Earle if he don’t quit dat hole mighty 
quick,” he muttered to himself. Then he commenced, with 
feelings of relief, to raise the body of the far-off adventurer. 
The immense length of rope required all his strength to re- 
wind it about the cylinder, so weighty had it become. He 
was forced frequently to attach the iron clogs ^nd pause for 
rest. After long and tedious toiling, loading the cylinder 
with rope to its utmost capacity, and then carrying away the 
coils to the darkness in the background, he found that his 
labor was growing lighter. After a time, when the end of 
the rope in the pit could not have been a great distance 
away, he became terrified at the lightness of the weight he 
was raising. It seemed to him incredible that a man so 
firmly and powerfully knit together as the explorer should 
bear so lightly on the end of the rope. At length he de- 
leted a distant, feeble light coming up out of the darkness. 
Nearer and nearer it came, and the rope was becoming every 
moment lighter and lighter beyond all credence. A spasm 
of agony passed across that faithful heart. He feared what 
he dared not mutter aloud. That ominous lightness of the 
rope was fearfully suggestive of a dozen horrors. Perhaps 
Constant Earle had broken the rope. Perhaps he had un- 
hooked it from his belt to examine more carefully lateral 
fissures, and while wandering away in caverns at the side 
the hook and rope had commenced their upward flight with- 
out him. Nearer and nearer came the light. Stephen dis- 
covered that it was burning dimly. Large and adequate for 
a prolonged exploration as it was, it was almost at the in- 
stant of its exit. He steadil3^ drew it up to him, occasionally 
securing the clogs, and looking carefully down into the pit 
to discover what made the end of the rope so light. The 
dim lamp at length crashed against the edge of the cliff and 
was extinguished. Trembling with apprehension, the guide 
approached the spot to assist Earle up to terra firma. He 
called out in vain effort at cheerfulness, for his heart was 
sinking : — 

“ Well, Massa Earle, I hope dis affair gib you perfee. 
satisfaction. Bless my soul, I nebber see such geologicat 
pluck in my hole life.” 

No response came to this sally. He knelt down, placed 
kis dark hand on the lamp, and drew the rope in to land, 


fP’AHWfOS. 




kn exclamation of horror escaped him. It was brehfn* Hit 
teeth chattered in terror ; cold, clammy perspiration burst 
out upon his face ; he arose and staggered backward, sank 
upon a rock, and, after a moment of fearful agony, burst 
into tears. 

“ O my God, Massa Earle’s done gone forebber I Foot 
Massa Earle I O my God, poor man ! and he sa}^, Stephen, 
you be berry fine French scholar, Dem’s his berry words ; 
an he’s done gone. De most admirablist gentleman dat 
ebber visited dis cabe.” 

He sat moaning and sobbing upon the rock for a long 
time ; then he sat silently and sullenly in despair. Presently 
an idea struck him. He started up, removed his hat, and 
felt carefully of the bumps upon his skull. The osteological 
examination appeared to be satisfactory, for he uttered a 
grunt of approbation, and proceeded directly to the little 
grotto, and soon reappeared with a huge loaf of bread. He 
submitted the loaf to the same experimental trial with his 
fingers. Then he stood a moment more in reflection. It 
was manifest that his conclusions were involved in some un- 
certainty. He removed his hat again, tossed the loaf as 
high in air as his strong arm could project it, and received 
the full shock of it upon his skull as it came down. The 
loaf bounded away from the curly pate to the ground. He 
grinned at the gentle effect upon his cranium of the falling 
loaf. He then proceeded to the edge of the pit. He had 
demonstrated satisfactorily to himself the momentum and 
velocity of falling bodies. He gave the loaf a toss into the 
pit. According to his logic its fall could not harm the ex- 
plorer if he were alive and at the bottom of the abyss. It 
might, on the contrary, be of material service to him; in 
fact, real manna to him in his subterranean wilderness. This 
novel method of provisioning the lower regions was pe’ se- 
vered in until every fragment of bread, meat, matcfcuS, 
cigars, and comforts, that had been stowed away in the 
grotto, was hurled into the pit. Then he replenished the ex- 
plorer’s lamp, tied it under his felt hat, in the manner of a 
parachute, and, lighting it, hurled it into the abyss, sacrific- 
ing his hat on the altar of friendship. This was not the 
limit of his leal. He procured wood from his place of de- 
posit in the cave, and setting fire to the pile hurled the blaz- 
sticks down into the darkness, shouting, “ Look out dar, 
Massa Earle 1 ” Every available assistance that his hoseat 


449 


irjuxmm. 


heart could imagine was hurled Into the pit. Then, with be- 
coming Christian philosophy, after he cleared away tht 
windlass and ropes into the grotto, he took up his own lamp 
and moved away barehead, saying aloud, “ De rest is wid de 
Lord. If it were foreordained dat Massa Earle’s goin’ to 
Ub, he’s a-goin’ to lib. K de udder way, den one of dem 
logs’ll gib &in de coup de grace** 

With this orthodox soliloquy he sought the regions of 
d«y light. 


SI. 

0 ! who to the hearti of waadering moa 

Art M the oalm to oo«*&’s wooxj wavea ! 

Sbbujw. 

“Ah I Nacoochee, this is a strange meeting after our 
long separation I The time has been tedious indeed to me. 
I began to fear I should never see you again. But is it 
possible you never saw my advertisements ? ” 

“Advertisements? What can you mean by that, Mr, 
Earle?” 

“ Not seen them, Nacoochee? Why, I left no stone un * 
turned to find you. In the ‘ Personal ’ of every paper likely 
to meet your eye I addressed communications to you as Na- 
coochee, begging for your address.” 

“How unfortunate! I never read anything under that 
head, Mr. Earle. But why did you wish to communicate 
with me? I supposed, after the cavalier manner of your 
leaving the school-room when you knew I was coming, that 
you would care little for any further communication with 
npie.” 

“ Is it possible that you have been all this dreary time 
brooding over a slight that was never intended ? Oh, how far 
you have mistaken my character I I imagined that I liad 
created respect in your mind, but it appears that I have ut- 
terly failed, and you have regarded me as a vacillating and 
unreliable man, who could drop on the Instant an acquaint- 
ance for whom 1 had expressed the highest regard. So ut 
terly precipitate were you in your cruel conjecture, that 1 


i^ijenrmr. 


44S 


e«Htnot reconcile it with your subsequent kindness in send 
ing me that beautiful ring. See here, where it should haTs 
rested until the day of my death.” 

He drew the ring from a pocket of his vest, exclaim 
Ing: — 

“ That is the dearest treasure I have ever received in life. 
I have cherished it there close beside my heart. To me it 
has been life, hope, a talisman against despair ; but now you 
have rendered it utterly valueless to me by your opinion of 
my character. I would not keep that ring now, — no 1 not 
if it were a shield to save my life. Take it. You have 
nokocked me by presenting it. It was the emblem of respect, 
but you have made it hateful to me by believing that I 
abandoned a friend without apology, turned my back upon 
a friend as if she had been a brute. Take it ; it bums my 
hand.” 

He flung the ring into her lap in bitterness, and turned 
a^ray. 

She sprang to her feet : — 

“ Stay, Mr. Earle ! for Gk)d*s sake, stay I There is some- 
thing wrong ! Hear me, I beseech you ! Do not leave me 
so 1 ” 

Her voice trembled with emotion. She stood so queenly 
and yet with an expression of such anguish in her pleading 
eyes that he turned back to her side and looked earnestly 
at her. 

“ Why do you say,” he exclaimed, bitterly, “ that some- 
thing is wrong? Wrong is it? Ay I atrociously wrong. 
I never had man or woman doubt me before. You have 
charged me with that which makes my blood boil. Treated 
you cavalierly, one whom I had crowned with the sacred 
name, /nend/ I desert a friend without a word, without a 
sign, without a cause I How dare you accuse me of this ? If 
you had called me coward, it would not have been a greater 
insult. I cannot stay unless you explain your meaning, and 
that right quickly too. My blood will not allow me the 
requisite calmness to speak properly to a laay. Treated 
you cavalierly? Never.” 

“O Mr. Earle, I never saw you enraged before! Do 
not look at me so sternly I But tell me why did you not 
wait for me that night? ” 

“ Wait for you? Wait for you? I waited for you l<Hig 
beyond the time you had ever tarried before. I pao<^ o,p and 


444 


a^AMIftCK. 


down that lonely school-room like a madman. I waited ia 
the hall and at the street door in agony until I thought my 
heart would break. I waited until hope had vanished and 
desolation overwhelmed me like the sea. I waited long, 
long, until every nerve in my body was agony, and then 1 
walked away so desolate, so lonely. But filled with anguish 
as I was that I was to lose you, having no address where I 
could write, 1 never lost my respect for you. I never doubted 
your friendship and sincerity. I knew you were ill, or other- 
wise necessarily detained, and so I went away in despair. 
Nacoochee, woman as you are, with all the traditional inten- 
sity of a woman’s nature, you can never feel the agony that 
I felt when I paced up and down before that door until the 
last hope of your coming had indeed vanished.” 

His voice trembled as he stood there so tall and beautlM 
in the lamp-lighted cavern, and the earnestness of his suffer- 
ing touched her heart. She placed her gloved hand upon 
his arm as she spoke : — 

“ Forgive me 1 Oh, forgive me for doubting you ! I came 
late and you were gone. Do you not allow anything for the 
delicacy of a woman’s nature? Was it not natuial for a 
woman to fancy that she was treated slightingly when you 
had left and no communication was there to be found in ex- 
planation ? You left no note, no message for me.” 

“True, Nacoochee. But I had reason to suppose that 
you would not come at so unusually late an hour. I forgive 
you with all my heart. But you cannot conceive my deso- 
ation when I had to leave without bidding you farewell.” 

Her beautiful eyes filled with an earnest Inquiry as they 
regarded him. At length she spoke calmly and sweetly, as 
if a cloud had passed away from her heart. 

“Your consideration for a person like me is so gratefiil 
and sweet that I know not how to express my gratitude. 
I know not what you find in me to chain your regard. We 
shall indeed be friends now. Yo har^ cuaifUo esti de mi 
parte para met'ecer la buena opinion de F."" 

“ It will require no effort, dear Nacoochee,” he replied, 
passionately, “ to deserve my good opinion. It has al- 
ready passed that limit. I love you passionately, madly. 
I dream of you at night. It tortures my waking thoughts 
that there may be something now to prevent my words 
reaching your heart. Oh, I love you 1 My souf reaches 
forth to you in entreaty to return that love. I caniitot 


moMmest. 


m 


Witboat yooT lore. Do yoa lore me? Will yon, can you 
love me ? ” 

She trembled, that gifted, noble girl, a« he stood before 
her vrith every intensity of his passion burning in his mag- 
netic eyes. Who could refbse that prince of beauty and 
intellectual power that passionate request? Her large, 
beautiful, startled eyes drooped their lids at his sudden and 
eager gaae. 

Mr. Earle, you forget that you are addressing a poor 
girl of whom you really know little. You startle me by 
your evident earnestness. I respect you too much ever to 
doubt you again. But my love is not that which would nat- 
urally be your expectation. Your family is proud and of 
high social position. Your talent is rapidly elevating you 
to an exalted literary position. Propriety should induce 
you to seek a love in your own class of society.” 

She did not succeed in speaking to the end with the un- 
ruffled calmness with which she had begun. He detected 
the tremulousness of her manner at the concluding sentence, 
and spoke then rapidly and vehemently, taking her hand 
which she did not withdraw from his grasp suddenly, but 
gently. 

“ Tell me that you love me, Naooochee, — dear, darling, 
precious Nacoochee, — and leave everything else out of your 
sentence. Speak only that word, and I am a monarch. 
Oh, I love you, I love you. Can you refuse my love, which 
is yours forever? Spe^, for God’s sake speak 1 ” 

He caught her hand again. It rested unresistingly now in 
his. She did not speak. Something caused her to quiver 
like the leaf. He passed his arm about her waist and drew 
her to him with the lion’s firmness. 

“ Speak, dear love I my life, my life, speak I " 

She raised her muffled face to his. Her eyes opened upon 
his. They were resplendent with that utter and intense 
abandonment of passionate love which fills the heart to 
Bufifocation. She adored him. He pressed burning kisses 
upon her beautiful lips till her head fell upon his breast. 

“ Tell me that you love me I tell me I 

She threw both arms about his neck and murmured, softly, 
“ How well you know it now.” 

They were interrupted by the oonfhsion of approaching 
voices. New lights were flashing along the stalactite 
vaults erf the cavern. Naooochee’ s friends were approaching 
•i 


m 


WAMffTCM:, 


the place where she had paased, exhausted by her miles oi' 
tramping, and promised to guard the baskets of provision 
which were to cover the extemporized dining-table of the 
exploring party. They were returning, these gay compam 
Ions of her visit, and the merry voices of ladies mingled iu 
the oonfbsed sounds which followed the lamp of the guide. 

She raised her head from his breast. 

“ You must leave me, Mr. Earle, before they see you. 1 
pleaded fatigue and preferred to rest here. If they should 
find you with me they might imagine that I had some secret 
appointment here and my fatigue was a ruse.” 

“ Then give me your address, darling, that I may go at 
once to you after your return to the city.” 

She tore a leaf from a little journal which she canied 
with her for the purpose of noting down all that was of in- 
terest in the cave, and, writing the address for him, gave it 
to him, saying : — 

“ See, they are going off into another avenue. I recollect 
jiow that they were to explore still another cave before their 
return.” 

“ Yes, thank God, they are ! ” he exclaimed. “ This dear 
moment will be prolonged a little. Sit down here again and 
talk to me.” 

They were soon engaged in that sweet, exquisite converse 
which succeeds the doubt and the declaration of love. Her 
hand rested in his, and she said at length, after arrange- 
ments had been perfected for their meetings in the metrop- 
olis, and the amethyst ring had been restored to him ; — 

“ Your book has been a wonderful success already. You 
should have heard those ladies who are with me raving about 
The Cave of Cheiron only a few moments ago. Something 
in this cave suggested your book.” 

“ And do you like it, then, Nacoochee? Is it an improve- 
ment on my last effort? ” 

“ You will not doubt my motive, Mr. Earle, when I say 
that it is charming. It is more than that. A gentleman in 
yonder party remarked that it was learned and 'abored as 
the Complutensian Polyglot of Ximenes. This occasioned 
no little amusement at the expense of a lady in the party 
who is wonderfully au courant of general literature. She 
had forgotten even the name of the cardinal, and it was the 
first allusion that she was forced to acknowledge her igno- 
rance of. Your kind advice regarding Spanish literature 




♦41 


kM Opened a new world of literary dejght to me. Thav 
wonderful man and his famous University of AlcaU have 
stolen many hours from my sleep.” 

And you still are the same vehement aspirant aftvs 
learning, Nacoochee?” 

“ Yes, indeed. The passion grows by indulgence. But 
I am so proud of your attainments that I have studied un* 
flaggingly in order to keep up with your books. Your am- 
bition is so exalted, — too noble to be dazzled by the false 
lights of an ephemeral popularity.” 

“ Thank you, my own darling one. Now I have ever}? 
motive that could stimulate man to persevere. The pleasure 
of success has been seriously marred by the absence of your 
appreciation and encoiuagement.” 

“ And have you never fancied, Mr. Earle, that you could 
be happy in the love of the beautiftil favorites of fortune by 
whom you have been surrounded and flattered ? ” 

“No, no, Nacoochee I” he replied, earnestly. “I have 
been as faithilil to your memory as the hamadryad to her 
>ee. Did you never hear of the constancy of the nightin- 
gale ? Are you familiar with Jami ? ” 

“ No. I must acknowledge my ignorance.” 

“ Then listen to this quotation : ‘ You may place a hundred 
handfuls of fragrant herbs and flowers before the nightingale, 
yet he wishes not in his constant heart for more than the 
sweet breath of his beloved rose.’ ” 

“ You are like the Hindu Cama,” she whispered. “ All 
your arrows are tipped with flowers.” 

He drew her head close to his breast, and they sat for a 
moment in that exquisite silence which is measured only by 
happy heart-beats. Then a sudden burst of music swelled 
along the caverns, thrilling and wild in that subterranean 
darkness. 

“ What in the world that, Nacoochee?” 

“ Only our band, Mr. Earle. The party is very large, and 
the gentlemen insisted upon employing a brass band to ao* 
company us. The effect of music under some of the domee 
is wonderful. I have found myself several times thrilled be- 
yond all expression with the music stealing away along the 
avenues. We had music also on the rivers as w© crossed 
Uiem.” 

“ How wonderful, beyond all extravagant dosoi’iption, If 
th^s oav© ! ” he replied. “ I hav^, visited the famous ca>e 


WAMWtCX. 


I4S 

Lonbi^re, and spent hoars In exploring its mysteries, iU 
crystals, its arches, altars, churches, elephants, horses, and 
fiery dragons. I am familiar, too, with the caverns of Gay- 
leuruth in Germany. I have travelled nine hours under 
ground through the Grotto Roland ; but this Mammoth Cave, 
— oh, this glory of America! It will be my arsenal of 
Imaginative description for my lifetime. If ever the hour 
comes when my fancy droops her wing, I have only to recall 
this pride of Kentucky, and images of sublimity and beauty 
will start up in myriad groups.” 

“ It is indeed a dream of majesty,” she replied. “ Do you 
know, I have been affixing titles of my own to white stalag- 
mites which the guides pay no attention to. I discovered one 
girl, fashioned from this white rock, which reminded me of 
the Scandinavian ideal of virginity, Falla. So I took the 
liberty of writing her down in my journal as such. Her 
tresses were bound with a yellow band so like to gold as to 
justify my conceit. Then I found near her Gesione, who 
admitted dead virgins into her heavenly train. Those 
Northmen had many beautiful conceits. I found also their 
three \irgins seated under an oak, — oh, such a perfect like- 
ness of a tree ! Do you remember them, sitting there, and 
disposing of the fates of men? Well, I saw them too I And 
I saw something else that perhaps escaped your searching, 
poetic eye ; no more nor less than the Scandinavian white 
ladies. Do you remember them gliding over the lakes like 
a pillar of mist, or sitting at midnight in the freezing 
shaddw of the pines, and singing, with low, soft voices, the 
Runic hymns? You needn^t smile at my fancy. I did see 
them too. I saw them in one of the caves just as distinctly 
as you saw the Pine Apple Bush. They were gliding along 
the wall in one stalactite, and sitting under the pine in an- 
other. But here come the party. But tell me what is the 
matter, do you suppose, with the best guide through the 
cave, Stephen? We met him yesterday going out of the 
cave bareheaded and utterly broken down. Something had 
happened to him, but he wouldn’t speak a word.” 

“ Yesterday, did you say, — yesterday ? Are you sure it 
was yesterday ? ” 

“'Why, certainly I This is the second day we have visited 
the cave. It was yesterday of course that we met him going 
&at.” 

Sh>w was the explorer at the flight of time in his 


WJLBWIOjB:, 


AAl 

terrible adTentare under the cave I He supj^essed his ex 
citement at the intelligence and turned the conversation. 
Then, pressing her once more passionately in his arms, he 
obeyed her request and withdrew to a place of concealment, 
until the departing figures of the party should be the signal 
for him to emerge from Ms retreat and follow them out of 
the cave. Nacoochee supposed her lover had a torch and 
the means of lighting it. She was not yet to share that so* 
cret wMch bad placed at his disposal fabulous wealth. 

Concealed behind a mass of rock which had fallen from 
the roof of the cavern, he watched the gay party gather 
about Nacoochee and proceed to arrange their dinner upon 
the rocks. He caught the sounds of mirth in the distance, 
and heard one of the gentlemen propose the health of “ the 
nun.” He was certain the idol of his life must be called by 
that name in the abandon of the exploring party. After a 
time he saw them all take up their torches, and, preceded 
by the band playing an inspiring march, depart for the 
mouth of the cave. He stole forth from his hiding-place 
and followed them. They were a long time in reaching the 
entrance, in consequence of many delays in inspecting new 
wonders of the place. At last, however, the exploration 
was over, and they passed on into the antechamber, and 
then filed along the narrow avenue which led to the mouth. 
He tarried just behind them until they had passed away up- 
ward to the surface of the earth, and then with feelings of 
relief mounted the steps into daylight after them. Once 
more in the region lighted by the sun ! The sense of free- 
dom was glorious, but terrible indeed was the sudden rush 
of the cold outer air, the fearfully powerful oppression of 
the atmosphere. He. had been traversing an air beneath the 
earth so mild, balmy, and equal, that the consumptive patient 
who will tarry there a few months will be restored to health 
and strength. But, alas I such recovery is limited to the 
cave. An exit from it, immediately restores the disease. 
He believed this statement when the oppressive character 
of the external atmosphere nearly bore him to the earth. 
For several moments he labored under difficulty in breath- 
ing. At length, however, he became accustomed to ex- 
ternal air and gazed about him. The autumn was far ad- 
vanced. Not a solitary leaf clung to tree or vine, but the 
air was mild, mild in the estimation of one reared in the 
l^racing climate of New York. No doubt, as he stood there 
W* 


WAMWim, 


m 

gazing about Mji, ifith the slantiiig rays of the setting sun 
shimmering over the dead and fallen leaves, in parts of his 
own native State the snow was flyihg and ice had bound the 
lakes and streams. 

He had much to accomplish before the conftision and life 
of the great metropolis should again meet his eye. He was 
the sole possessor of a secret, the consciousness of which 
made his blood tingle. Unbounded wealth was his. Only 
a careful and patient ordeal was requisite to place him in 
contact with it again. He must traverse that cave with 
guides again and again, until familiarity should make him 
master of its intricacies. When he could safely traverse the 
cave alone, then could he descend, with abundant light and 
provision, the antediluvian stairw^ay and remove the gold as 
he had occasion for it. Secrecy, patience, and labor were re- 
quisite to remove the precious metal. It would never do to 
excite the suspicion of the guides. He must always enter 
as if on missions of scientific or geological discovery. In 
time he could remove vast wealth to the mints of his country, 
and receive in return the coinage of his government. 
Wealth had brought all its traditioiiary responsibilities and 
cares. He had promised Gkxi to use it wisely. He had 
been rescued by the Omnipotent Arm in every venture of 
life. He had been trained in adversity. Literary honor 
had come to him. Now he was entrusted with the steward- 
ship of wealth ; it was yet to be seen whether he was grate- 
fill and would employ it for the assistance of the poor, the 
struggling, the gifted, the scientific, the needy of every class. 
He had nobly battled with poverty and triumphed. Would 
he rise victor over the temptations of wealth ? 

He sat long upon a bank of earth covered with leaves 
and pondered his future. He must find some way to close 
the mouth of Stephen, who would no doubt take him for an 
appari tion fi:om the realms of death. Then came the memory 
of the gifted daughter of poverty whose love he had won ; 
and then, like an eternal finger of reproach, returned for the 
first time the memory of his promise to his sister, his proud, 
afiaicted sister. He had acted impulsively when his eyes 
rested upon the face of the girl he loved. His heart went 
forth to her and was made happy. Now came the distress 
of his violated promise. His sister would never consent to 
80 palpable a urUsaUianoe, An Earle wed with a governess 
without position and obscure ! How would tike proud ba«d 


WAmWWA. 


tOM disdain! How cx)uld he look In the face of hb 
beautifhl sister? Nacoochee he would never desert 
ihe was his already. la confusion and eagerness he hastened 
away to the hotel to see her again. At Sie office he learned 
to his amazement that the party had already gone. 


1 . 1 . 

Vko«|^ tilt ailli »f gria4 aUwIy, 7«t tii«j frix4 MS^edirng auUI; 
IbMif k witk p»ti«aoe hie wsiUnf , witk '.tiMtscM griadj k« all. 

J[<ov«nuM!li 

4L oaouF of ladies and gentlemen were standing upon the 
dec k of an ocean steamer. , Some were leaving for England ; 
the others had collected to bid them farewell. Miss Delano 
ana her uncle, the Reverend Thomas Delano, were present ; 
also the restless, nervous Colonel Baldgrave. The latter 

f entieman was to lose forever the child he had adopted. 

'he mother of little Violet had claimed her child from the 
colonel, upon evidence of its parentage which was incontro- 
vertible. The first nurse of the child had established its iden- 
tity with the offspring of James H. Neville — now proved 
to be an assumed name of Rol:>ert Melville — and his wife by 
a secret marriage, Louisa Earle. The beautiful and elegant 
mother of little Violet stood apart in earnest and apparently 
confidential conversation with the heiress, the godmother 
of her child. She was an-ayed in deep mourning. Lord 
Carnochan, who had claimed her in behalf of the family of 
the deceased maaquis, had declared to her his firm belief 
that her nusband, who was heir to the estates, had met with 
sudden and mysterious death, perhaps had been drowned in 
some night attempt to board the vessel in which he had 
stated to her his intention to embark for England. Lord 
Carnochan had finally discovered the wife of his missing 
relative through the letters and advertisements dictated by 
Constant Eaiie, although hio first suspicions of the truth 
were excited by the vigilani iCKJcarches of the detective, 
Fagan. He had made himself known to Mrs. Melville, 
stated to her his apprehensions itym-ding her husband’s fate, 
and persuaded her her vy .o her little iUughter de 


WAMWKX. 


m 

mftnded that she should immediately proceed with him u 
England and claim the valuable estates of the deceased 
marquis in behalf of Violet. The agonizing suspicions in 
her own mind regarding her husband’s death seemed to be 
confirmed. She donned her widow’s weeds and placed her 
seif under the guardianship of Lord Camochan. Her child 
had become heiress to great wealth, and her own condition 
pecuniarily was satisfactory as the widow of Robert Mel- 
ville. Her departure was hastened by the suggestions of 
her husband’s relative, and from him she obtained an ad- 
vance of funds which she transmitted to her brother Con- 
stant, absent in Kentucky, and wrote to him urging his im- 
mediate return to the city, that he might follow her in the 
next steamer. She was going among strangers and needed 
his presence and counsel beyond the sea. 

Miss Delano was aware of the real motive which prompted 
Lord Carnochan in accelerating the departure of the widow 
for England. She and her uncle had been on confidential 
terms with that nobleman for a long time. The trio had 
been consulted frequently by the vigilant and persistent Fa- 
gan regarding the movements of the suspected murderer. 
Every fact that the heiress was possessed of had been com- 
municated to the detective in the presence and by the ad- 
vice of her uncle and Lord Camochan. That astute agent 
of the police could approach Montrose Earle readily, from 
his previous and frequent emplo3rment by that gentleman on 
private business of his own. But so adept was he at dis- 
guises and changes of voice that he had been introduced to 
Montrose Earle as a traveller of distinction, and had actually 
on several occasions been admitted to the private and ele- 
gant apartments adjoining the residence of the clergymaxL. 
He had looked there in vain for the mysterious machinery 
whose hum came at times so distinctly through the walls to 
the ears of Miss Delano and her uncle. His professional 
skill had been utterly baffied by the sounds. He had been 
admitted to the library of the clergyman and hesurd himself 
the click of machinery. But no machinery was to be found 
in the elegant suite of rooms when he visited them as the dis- 
tinguished traveller from abroad. Once or twice Montrose 
Earle had left him in possession of his library ostensibly 
engaged in learned rCsearcL He had improved such 
opportunity to sound the partition wall of the houses for 
sret chamt^ra where the murder might have been committed 


WAMWlfOM. 




AAd tiie machinery might be oonoealed. All efforts io fathom 
the mystery had proved abortive. The note fbund by the 
ladies in Montrose Earle’s apartments had been identified by 
Lord Camochan as in the handwriting of his missing rel- 
ative. The indefatigable Fagan had even gained access to 
the Indian and Arabic museom at Silvlcola/’ and identified 
the handwriting in the book as the chirography of Robert 
Melville. But in addition to these facts he had discovered 
that Earle had travelled in foreign lands with the missing 
man, known to him then as James H. Neville. 

It had been decided finally to seenre the arrest of the sus- 
pected morderor, and thereupon institute a thorough search 
of his private apartments for the watch which had been pre- 
sented to the missing man by Lord Camochan, and wMch 
contained in one of its covers a miniature of that nobleman. 
The latter gentleman desired to spare Mrs. Melville at 
present the double shock of hearing that her husband was 
probably mnrdereil and her own brother had Ijeen arrested 
for the crime. If any testimony on her part should prove to 
be essential finally, Uie sad intelligence could be broken to 
her gradually. The preliminary inveBtigation might result 
favombly to the accnsetl, and then there would ^ no ne- 
cessity of her ever knowing anything of the affair. These 
considerations had prompted the action of the nobleman in 
hastening her departure. 

How strange the vicissitudes of fortune in the brief history 
of the blue-eyed, golden-haired little girl, the beautiful, 
gentle Violet, who stood beside Colonel Baldgrave receiving 
the parting caresses of the kind gentleman whom she had 
already learned to regard as her father. His eyes filled with 
tears at her fareweU prattle, as she stood there in wild 
wonder, gazing at the shipping and speculating in her art- 
less way upon the great ocean which she was about to cross. 
How well he recalled the scenes which now were at an end I 
No more would he witness those teachings of her beautiful 
godmother, his ardent friend. No more would May Delano 
behold her exquisite godchild in the attitude of infant 
irayar, and recallmg the lines » — 

** tksc 4i4 sIm ksMl, Ibpiag nerad " i nimw, 
iLii4 iookiag, wkila h«r kaixdt Md 
Arc UfUd to i'&« (lowing ekiot, 
lik* » Ktny kdb* of P&nuiij»Of 
Jut urn tli« SofTory 

AiiA lAr Ui koAM 


m 


WAMtrWK, 


The jroang iife, di»ily developing in new beauties and 
graces, had passed, from the position of a little stray left bv 
the hands of poverty where wealth could shield it, to the 
exalted place of an English heiress of noble blood. It was 
hard to part with her on the part of those who had sheltered 
her through the days of darkness. But she was safe again 
under the care of those e 3 ^es which had borne her in sight, 
which had known her peaceful home, and ached so long at 
that distance which had been created by a father^s hand and 
a father’s proud command. The colonel at last parted from 
the clinging child and hastened away to conceal his emotion. 
May Delano gave a parting and affectionate kiss to the calm, 
beautiful mother, turned to the child and gathered her in her 
arms for the last time, and then giving her hand to Lord 
Camochan in farewell left the steamer with her uncle. 

The trio watched from the shore the receding sweep of 
the vessel, slowly fading away into indistinctness, till hu- 
man forms were no longer distinguishable, and then sought 
their respective homes. 

Scarcely had the heiress and her uncle gained the steps 
of their home when they saw Fagan emerge from the adja- 
cent house, the property of Montrose Earle, and with a de- 
jected air pause upon the steps as if in indecision. Recog- 
nizing the two as they hiounted the steps this apt pupil of 
Herod and Fouch6 called to them to stop, and coming to 
them gave them the substance of a mystery which no one 
could fathom. The officers who had come with him to make 
the arrest of the suspected murderer could find no trace of 
him, and were informed to their utter amazement that his 
rooms had not been occupied for several weeks. Mrs. Secor, 
Fagan’s authority, had noticed for several days that Mon- 
trose Earle did not leave his rooms and that the servants 
from the restaurant could gain no adraittance to them. All 
was silent within. She had listened day after day for the sound 
of his footsteps within, but no one appeared to be moving in- 
side. She had arrived long ago at the conclusion that he had 
taken himself off suddenly to “ Silvicola,” or perhaps to 
Europe, and had advised those who furnished his meals to 
come no more until the owner of the rooms should appear. 
The police-ofificers had just broken in his door, and found 
everything in conlhsion upon the table of his library, and 
articles of dress scattered about his apartments as if they had 
b@ea in a»e the day before. Everything indicated tlMtt the 


wjUtmcM. 


m 

©wner mast hnre vacated the suite of rooms in great haste^ 
placing nothiiig in order, leaving everything as if it had 
been in use five minutes before. It was evident that he had 
suddenly fled, perhaps forewarned of the arrest which had 
been meditated. According to the statements of Mrs. Secor 
he must have vanished weeks before. Everything had been 
unlocked or forced open by the ofiScers of the law, and none 
of the articles discovered which Lord Carnochan had pre- 
sented to Robert Melville. No new or suspicious evidence 
was elicited from the inspection of his rooms and cabinets. 
Everything was as elegant, calm, and beautiful as this cele- 
brated dilettante could render it. The front room was as 
gay and artistic, the library as scholarly, and the silver-and- 
white sleeping-chamber as pure and lovely as ever. The 
habituia of the avenue saw him no more. His stables were 
still in the possession of his Arabian grooms. His accounts 
at the banks were in favorable condition. No funds had 
been quietly withdrawn. On the contrary, he had made 
heavy deposits just before his disappearance. His servants 
in the city and at “ Silvicola ” knew nothing of his where- 
abouts. His disappearance was apparently as much of a 
mystery to them as to the police. This denouement ended the 
arrest. Lord Carnochan was informed across the Atlantic 
that the bird had flown. Public rewards were offered for 
the discovery of the wealthy and elegant savant, but in 
vain. He never appeared in New York again. The attorney 
who conducted the management of many of Montrose Earle's 
Investments ascertained the address of the younger brother, 
and by letter advised him to return at once to the city and 
take possession of his brother’s estates on behalf of himself 
and his sister, as he feared that Montrose had been murdered 
and his body flung into the river. The last reliable item of 
information regarding the missing man was that he was 
teen late in the evening walking towards one of the city 
fbrries. 

Constant Earle, still occupied in his secret pursuits in 
oonnection with the Great Cave, returned at once to the city, 
and, taking possession of his brother’s property, advertised 
widely for the recovery of his body. No fhrther tidings 
were gained of the lost man. He never reappeared upon 
the scenes where he had received the flattery and considera- 
tion of the crime de la crime. The whole estate of Montroa# 
Ettfie finally devolved upon Constant and I^ooiaa Earle 


WAMWWK. 


m 

“ Silvioola,” the old homestead, becjame, upon a final dlviBioi 
of the property, the estate of the younger brother. 

One of the first letters which came to the hands of the an^ 
thor upon his return from Kentucky was a communication 
from the printer's wife, announcing the death of her husband 
and that his property had been willed to her. She desired 
him to take possession at once of the proceeds of Polym- 
nia which had become or should become due, as they were 
his lawful property and she knew he needed the money. 
To this epistle, written in the simplicity and honesty of her 
Christian-heart, he returned answer that God had blessed 
him witl^ wealth and she should forever own the proceeds 
of the sales of that book, but that he desired the publisher to 
announce in the public press, under the head Palmam qui mer- 
uit ferat^ that Constant Earle was the real author of that work. 
Then making his preparations for a speedy pursuit of his 
sister to England he hastened away to fulfil his engagement 
with Nacoochee. The evening was at hand when she had 
promised to be in the city and give an audience to her lover. 

“ Oh, this night, this beautiful night! You can have no 
conception of it, Carrie, without being out in the air away 
from the buildings where you can see a broad stretch of steel- 
blue sky, in which every star is an oasis. I never know on 
this dear Christmas night whether to cry or laugh, so 
many emotions press upon my heart. The memory of the 
dead who have passed such happy Christmas days with me 
always comes back in anguish. But then that sweet, glori- 
ous, melting memory of our dear Lord, who came to earth 
for our salvation I Every unkind thought, eveiy ungenerous 
word that has ever been spoken of me by my friend or foe is 
swept away in forgiveness on this night.” 

“ You are excited. May,” was the response. “ I am so glad 
to see you enthusiastic once more. Your sad, serious eyes 
liave haunted me so long. The church always does you 
good you come back so much lighter of heart.” 

“ Ah I but you should have seen my dear crowd of orphan 
children winding away from the church, and then their de- 
light at the Cliristmas-tree. Poor little souls 1 my heart 
bleeds for them on this night ! I remember my own mother 
so vividly and the glorious time she always made of Christ- 
mas for me. Ah! forgive me, dear Carrie, for touching 
this wound again.” 




m 

She tat down beside the motherless girl, whose ejes filled 
with tears, and folding her tenderly in her arms' soothed hei 
in low, sweet accents. 

“ It will soon be over, darling, this earth agony and un- 
rest, and then the Eternal Presence, our mothers, sisters, 
friends, eternally united and radiant. Oh, do you know I 
believe the angels are nearer us to-night than any other time 
in the year save only when wo receive Holy Communion ? 
The Persians call Christmas-night scheb Jaldai^ the clear and 
luminous night, because of the descent of the angels. How 
the remotest comers of the earth testify to the glorious mem- 
ory of the Virgin and her child I Do you know that Jesus in 
the lap of Mary was carved on one of the pillars of the 
Caaba ? ” 

“ No,” she replied, raising her head from the shoulder of 
her friend. “ I never associated anything of truth with the 
religion of the Mohammedans.” 

“ Yes, the crescent has also been tributary to the honor 
of Christ. They acknowledge Jesus as one of their six 
great prophets. But tell me, Carrie, about your marriage 
now. You promised to tell me ever 5 dihing when I returned 
from church.” 

“ The day for the wedding is appointed. We are to be 
married on the fifteenth of June. You are to be of course 
first, and Lottie Chambers second bridemaid.” 

“ And you are to live at home ? ” 

“ Yes, father would consent on no other terms. He Is so 
lonely.” 

“We shall have great times making preparations, Carrie. 
Now I want to unfold one of toy plans to you. I have just 
completed a contract for the erection of a brick building for 
the education of my orphans. You will be delighted with 
the plan. I will bring it to you to-morrow. I inl|3Dd to 
present it to the church by my will. But during my life I 
aim to have the management and control of it. I expec t to 
delegate certain powers to several ladies, of whom you are 
to be first named. These parties are to divide the responsi- 
bility of visiting and looking after my teachers, whom I am 
to compensate for their services, and also to report uix>n the 
condition of the orphans. My own time will be engrossed 
with my retreat for old and helpless women. Oh 1 I forgot 

to tell you about the fracas at St. . The rector Is a 

high churchman, but his assistant. Rev. James Faber, wH# 




m 

takes sides^wlth uncle, committed the fam pas of introducing 
some ceremonial innovations without consulting the rector. 
I happened to overhear some criticisms which were rather 
piquant. The result will be that Mr. Faber will be sent 
somewhere else.” 

“ But you sympathize, May, ^th this ritualistic mov^ 
ment.” 

“ No, I do not I ” was the emphatic response. “ Not until 
the assembled authority of the church sanction it, and so I 
have told uncle. The alterations in man y r espects would 
gratify my ideas of taste and propriety. When the church 
speaks then I am bound in the spirit and interest of Chris- 
tian unity to obey. The church is the light in the darkness 
and uncertainty of the world for us to look to and honor. Our 
individual opinions as our standards of action are unreliable 
guides. I believe the national church of our country to be 
just, holy, and wise. The assembly of our bishops, laity, and 
clergy have acknowledged authority to change our ceremo- 
nial. When they act, then I follow. I am apprehensive of 
the results of individual alterations before our great central 
authority indicates our course. Much as I honor nucleus 
zeal and piety I cannot endorse his ideas yet. There he 
comes now ! I must leave you for a moment to prepare 
something for him. He has been worked almost to death 
for the last fifteen hours. I shall return soon.” 

Miss Deming watched her lithe figure as she hastened 
away. Miss Delano was dressed in deep mourning for the 
death of her noble Christian friend, Carrie's mother. The 
hour to fulfil her promise to the dying had arrived. Hence- 
forth her conduct must be so trained in the way of holiness 
that the motherless might not be led astray after false lights 
of frivolity and sin. Her friend sat m silence and reverie 
gazing out upon the stars. “ How admirably May holds up 
under some distress which is guarded from me 1 1 believe 
faith and tmsS in God will sooche her to peace at last. 
Who jan it be ? She was as serene and brilliant as ever loM 
aighl. It could not have been any of those callers. Pooi^ 
d&M May I She is going to be a 




m 


Cirapter 


And jet mj one lerer 
IVe eaoMd Omm m viewer, it wnite thee to-night 

Jeah IneKX.^w< 

No Honder the ancient children of Teutates prayed by the 
diver light of the moon and entitled her the fair mtUe. 
Something suggestive of purity and heaven steals down her 
gentle rays and enters the unresisting heart. A shadowy 
figure sat in the window, and her upturned face was 
whitened by the soft radiance. Selene came to the calm, 
pale, half-muffled countenance, as of yore she smiled en- 
amored on the beauty of the sleeping Endymion. As the 
silent girl dreamed on of the only one who had ever touched 
her heart the clock on the adjacent avenue slowly and 
solemnly tolled eight. She started up in anxiety from her 
vigil, and pressing her white bound forehead to the cold 
glass peered down the street. A familiar figure was walk- 
ing rapidly up the street towards the house. He was com- 
ing prompt as a man of business to his love. Wealth had 
not diverted him, then, from one whom the world pitied. The 
acquisition of “ Silvicola’* and half of the great Earle estate 
had not estranged his faithful heart from the governess. Oh, 
how sweet and precious a love was that which faltered not 
in the face of poverty and partial mutilation, but was bom 
and lived only on appreciation of the soul and intellect! 
How she could pour her heart treasures out before such a 
man, so constant and royal a lover I 

His ring at the bell was nervous and quick, and Nacoo- 
fihce, closing the inside shutter upon the moon, walked away 
to the inner salon and sat in the gas-light like a pale, patient 
nun. 

Yes, the governess was in, and he could see her at once 
tn the drawing-room. In the eagerness of love he pressed 
forward past the servant, and entering the apartment 
stood before her. A blush stole to her cheek at his ardent 
greeting, and she said in slight trepidation : — 

“ Who could have dreamed that you could be so punctual 
t>n so long an appointment ? ” 

“ Had I the hundred and forty pair of wings of the Mo 


WAMWSOS, 


hammedAn Gabriel 1 could not fly too fkst to year arma 
The heart was here long before me, Nacoochee. The last 
hour has seemed to drag most wofUlly along. My darling, 
my darling, are you glad that I have come ? ” 

He sat beside her on the sofa, and drew her to him as he 
spoke. 

“ You know, Mr. Earle.” 

“ Call me no longer by thit name, but by the dearest title 
you can think of on earth.” 

“ My life I my life ! That is the name you gave me in the 
cave ; that is the dearest name, for that alone tells all.” 

“ I have brought you, sweetest Nacoochee, a ring. Tell me 
if it pleases you. Here in the same box you will find a dia 
mond brooch. It was so clear and beautiful I was sure you 
would accept it from me now. Do not refuse me, but take it 
now.” 

What woman ever sat long with an unopened box of diar 
monds in her hand? She removed the white, silky-looking 
paper, opened the box, and saw a solitaire stone in a ring, 
exquisite!}' clear but not ostentatious in size. His taste for- 
bade display in a ring. She laid it aside, as she said, softlv, 
“ And this for a poor governess. Would you turn my head r ” 

Then, as he spoke not, but only studied her countenance, 
she proceeded to examine the larger object which rested at 
the bottom of the box. It was secured in a velvet case. She 
pressed the spring and instantly exclaimed, “ That is the 
most magnificent stone I ever saw, the largest, the most 
brilliant I Oh, how beautiful I But, Mr. Earle, you have 
done an unwise act in my judgment. That stone must con- 
tain a fortune in itself.” 

It was a single stone, as large and dazzling as ^at Sansy 
diamond which was found on the battle-field in the sword- 
hilt fallen firom the ^ying hand of Charles le Temeraire. 

“ Why have you brought this to me, Mr. Earle ? ” 

“Because, Nacoochee, if my eager heart must only keep 
pace with the calm, slow tread of fashion and etiquette, it 
will go mad. I adore you, I love you, beyond your wildest 
dream. I long to cast everything at your feet : wealth, life, 
honor, everything must pass into your keeping before I can 
be happy Oh, speak to me, darling, in the burning lan- 
guage of my own heart ! Tell me that every fiery throb 
meets a response in yours. Tell me ; my heart is famished 
for words of love. I crave, litre the long wanderer In the 


WAMimSK. 


m 


desert dying of thirst, a cnp, a drop of drink* Oh , give it to 
me fresh from the fountain of your lips I Give it to me, 1 
entreat you.” 

He drew her face to his and kissed her eagerly, passion 
ately. She would have struggled away, but he was irre8ist> 
ible. She was a straw in his muscular grasp. 

“ You must listen to me, Mr. Earle. I have something 
very serious to say to you before I yield myself up to you 
forever. I have deceived you, and until everything is made 
evident to you it is improper that you should abandon your 
self so completely to love.y Will you desist now out of con- 
sideration for my feelings ? ** 

Des d presetUl** was the annoyed response. “What 
can you mean, Nacoochee, by so peremptory a manner? ” 

“ Listen to me, and you ^ail know directly. What ia It 
that you love ? ” 

“ Tou! you!** 

“ Yes ; but what is the object of your love, — my heart? ” 

“ Yourself, as you are, Nacoochee; your heart, your intel- 
lect, your person, all that constitutes you, the you that was 
my scholar, that came to me, listened to me, and above all 
that counselled me so wisely and so well,” 

“ And yet you did not know my family, my friends, Mr. 
Earle. You have perhaps been too delicately nerved to pry 
into my affairs. Would you love me if crime was associated, 
not with me, but with my relatives?” 

He looked at her earnestly, and then said : — 

“ Certainly. K you are innocent, truthfhl, and sincere, 
and only unfortunate in your relatives, I should love you 
without wavering.” 

“You will love the governess, then, forever?” 

“ Forever^** he repeated after her. 

“ But I have deceived you, Mr. Earle, and when I have 
explained everything you shall be at liberty to discard me if 
you please.” 

“ Very good I — go on, Nacoochee. You will find that 
my love has enveloped you as you are, so that unless you 
are guilty of dishonor I shall hold you to my heart forever.” 

“ Do not be so positive, Mr. Earle. You have to pass 
through an ordeal of your affection which you little dream 
of.” 

I do not fear, dear Nacoochee. Go on with your die 


m 


wAMwrac. 


closure*. Keep me in anxiety away from y»ar arms ns 


She approached the table in trepidation. He could sec 
that she trembled violently. She paused under the gaslight^f 
tore the white bandages from her forehead and cheeks, threw 
the black covering from her head, and May Delano stood be- 
fore him. The softest, richest chestnut hair covered her head , 
the fairest, purest skin, unharmed and beautiftil, appeared to 
Mm, and like a princess, exceedingly proud and lovely, she 
stood regarding him. 

For an instant he was paralyzed. His senses were at fault 
He saw a paleness like death cross her face. Instantly 
he opened his arms to her. She saw the blessed sign of un- 
dying love, and with a quick, eager word of joy she was 
olas]^ to his heart. 


aiiS. 


hU n«lg)i k lik« Mddiag a aoMreh, aa4 kk «a- 

Kom Hkstbt y. 


Whbsk Archimedes indicated Ms knowledge of the lever, 
by his famous declaration, “ Give me where I may stand, 
and I will move the world,” there is no reason to believe that 
he was advised of the existence of Constant Earle’s inex- 
liaustible gold mine. The omnipotent power of capital has 
been the development of a later age. Seldom has that 
power been more judiciously wielded than by the scholar and 
author who penetrated the sumptuous treasury of Pluto in 
Uie Occident. His financial power w'as felt in every great 
eommerciai mart. Where an honest enterprise needed sup- 
port his purse was freely opened. Where a ironeyed knave 
mercilessly ground the faces of the poor and ruined honest 
men of slighter means, he appeared on the scene for that man, 
like the Polish deity, Poehwist (the cloudy sky). Storms 
followed his advent “ on the street.” The Christian religion 
inculcates justice. Give to each man his own, says the up* 
nght casuist. But the tenor of this noble life was 
The poor need employment, recreation, and M? ; the vidoa^ 


p^AJimax, 


m 


mkomtBgementf kind sympathy, aad the remoTal of 
tion. Both classes reoeired his attention and his name 
became beantifhl on quivering lips. There are tens of thou 
swds who struggle and fail who are neither indolent nof 
vicious. €k)d disposes of the fates of men. The gi*eat 
modem doctrine that thrift is God is a monstrous heresy. 
Men fail daily who deserve to succeed. Courts of equity 
were established for the adjustment of those cases where law 
was deficient by reason of its universality. Christ established 
the court of charity, which issues mitigative decrees for all 
men. 

Constant Earle had struggled for bread in a garret. His 
heart knew how to open toward all students in garrets. He 
knew full well that merit has many falls, and that some men 
must starve between those falls before the halcyon days of suc- 
cess come on. Where would his literary success have been 
manifest, had not Madame Benon rescued him from death be- 
neath the dingy rafters ? His brave, noble heart opened towards 
all authors. They were his kinsmen in suffering. One of 
the first and noblest monuments of his charity was a home 
for authors. A great building was opened for those whom 
his trustees, all literary men, should pronounce patient, vir- 
tuous toilers in the field of letters. They were given, when 
utterly without means, a room, fire, and light, that the 
anguish of bitter struggle and destitution might not mar 
those ideal visions of purity and beauty which, given forth to 
the world by the press, sanctify the hearts and elevate the 
dispositions of men. 

He had been a teacher. No one could realize more per- 
fectly the necessity of a great public library which should 
be opened at night. Thousands toil through the day wrio 
would eagerly avail themselves of an hour or two at night to 
cultivate their minds and consult their authorities for literary 
ventures in a public library possessing the most perfect and 
most scholarly of catalogues. The public libraries of his 
native city were inaccessible after nightfall. Upon the care- 
fill examination of this literary want he erected a vast build- 
ing which contained a library rivalling the magnificent col 
lections of the Escurial. Here the poor, the daily toiler for 
bread could revel at night in the banquet of intellectual 
viands. 

In the development of his stupendous charities he erected 
a night seminary of learning, where the young girls and nm 


■ 4 ^ 




who toil as teachers in the pablio sohools bj day, might te 
eeive a more thorough classical and lingnistlo education to 
qualh^ them for higher positions in educational establish- 
ments. There is no limit to the usefulness of the opulent 
who regard their stewardship of wealth as of God. In every 
enterprise, in every exalted charity, he possessed a noble 
coadjutor. When, wearied by his labors as a teacher, he had 
out of the generosity of his nature given an additional houi 
to the general culture of his Spanish scholar, he had like 
Baucis and Philemon entertained a divinity unawares, one 
who had become dear to him as life, one who combined the 
loveliest charms of person and manners with the intellectual 
culture of an Aspasia. During the witching hours devoted 
to those Spanish lessons that beautiful patrician had learned 
the true character of the man whose portrait seemed to look 
upon her from the walls of her uncle's oratory. Beautifhl 
an Tithonus, eloquent as Aper, gifted with the deep mind, 
the noble heart, the invincible courage and the sublime 
Christian faith of Athanasius, how could any true Christian 
woman be brought so often in contact with him and not love 
him? He had appeared to leave her society lightly and 
unconcernedly. Then she withdrew into herself in anguish 
Strange inde^ appeared to her the fact that In her exalted 
position in society she could not win him whom in her 
humble character she had brought to her feet. It was the 
constancy of the man's soul. Had she not in a moment of 
mirth assumed again her disguise at the cave when her com 
panions were arraying themselves in the gay costumes 
which are there provided for the exploration, she never could 
have won his heart. Her love would have been as hopeless 
as Sappho's for Phaon. With the self-sacrificing spirit of 
Antinous he was about to hurl himself from the lofty rock 
of society for the sake of a dear memory, — the memory of the 
girl who had been his Evening Star. How ardently her 
noble heart responded to that constancy I She had appointed 
^e place of meeting at the residence of her friend, Mrs 
Lagrange. Oh I the unspeakable joy of that moment whe® 
the disuse had fallen and she was folded in his arms I 

The summer sun had dropped below the horizon. The 
eolors of the Western clouds were too subtle and biilliani 
fbr the pdltUe of any human artist and elicited murmurs of 
admiratloB an equestrian group who were waiting 


WAMWmK. 


m 


befbre the gallery of “ Sublimity ” for a rider for a magnifkeiiiil 
black gelding, which stood pawing the earth in impatience 
and was held at the bit by the hands of the ever-faithfhl 
groom, Mike. hirs. May Earle was mounted upon Warwick. 
Near her was the milky-white Muslama, controlled by the 
beautifhl widow of the lost Robert Melville. Colonel Bald- 
grave sat upon an iron-gray stallion with the erect and 
distingue bearing which had made him the cynosure of 
every eye during the civil war. Occasionally he indicated 
his nervous, impatient spirit by inquiries addressed to the 
groom, who had already exhausted his fund of information 
regarding the delay. The owner of the black gelding soon 
m^e his appearance, however, and hastening down the 
lawn apologized for the detention of the party, and then 
with a quick vault into the saddle bounded away with War- 
wick beside him. 

“ Now, madame,” he said to his wife, “ I propose to give 
you an opportunity to redeem Warwick’s failure of 
yesterday. You recollect that Zetes beat him by half a 
head.” 

“ That victory is disputed. Constant. But never mind. 
Warwick beat him the day before without any trouble, 'rhis 
day shall decide the question of supremacy if you say so.” 

“ Very good. May. I directed Shorty to stand at the 
bridge and decide who crosses it first.” 

“ All right, away we go,” was the response, and the two 
urged their steeds forward, followed by Mrs. Melville and 
her escort. 

The cripple stood beyond the fairy bridge and near to it 
that he might render a correct decision as to the contested 
question of speed. He saw at length the leading equestrians 
ascending the slope of the mountain at full speed. Zetes 
and Warwick passed up the slope like equals. Nearer and 
nearer they came, the western clouds growing darker every 
instant, until the steeds and their riders began to look hazy 
and dim in the gloaming. Quicker and quicker they swept 
forward and upward, reached the bridge, thundered over its 
planks side by side and were reined to a stop a few yards 
beyond. 

^^Who was ahead, Shorty?” called back the voice of 
Constant Earle. 

“ Warwick, sir.” 

Ok, the boy ia blind I ” exoiaimed tke rider Mam. 


WAAWWX. 


m 


Ko, indeed 1 '' laughed the triamphant May. That 
won’t do. Shorty was your umpire. How much In farot 
of Warwick, Shorty ? ” 

“ Jest about that much,” said the cripple, measuring ofL 
the length of his forefinger. 

“ Botheration I ” exclaimed Constant Eaile ; “ there’s no 
chance for Zetes among all these retainers of Warwick. 
Won by the length of his ear / What stuff I ” 


1^ M«cf fTATto qal almit ftaaoilraa, igaotes uoxiter dU. 

Bao«b. 

Ufok the expiration of the lease of Mr. Secor the posses- 
sion of the Earle mansion upon the avenue reverted to Con- 
stant Earle as the heir of his brother. The partition of the 
great estate had given this ancient property of his family to 
the younger brother. The mansion which the merchant- 
prince had occupied at the time of his death was allotted to 
Mrs. Melville. Constant Earle, ardently attached to the 
memory of his grandfather, desired to occupy the more 
venerable and spacious dwelling of the older generation. 
His wishes were consulted in the partition, and upon the ex- 
piration of the lease he prepared to renovate the old house 
and make such alterations as the taste and wishes of his 
beautiful wife suggested. Upon removing the mantel-piece 
in the front, or blue and salmon room, of Montrose Earle’s 
suite, the workmen discovered that the projection of the 
chimney into the apartment had singularly enough become 
detached from the wall. Upon closer inspection it was 'Man- 
ifest that the wall paper had never covered the angle made 
by the wall and the projection of the chiimiey. A cleat 
had been attached to the chimney, over which the wall paper 
was pasted and appeared to have si)rurig backward from 
the wail, leaving a dark crevice. The attention of the o'^'ner 
was called to the matter, and upon probing the crevice with 
a chisel what was his amazement to see the whole chimney, 
ur what appeared to be a chimney, swing back o& hingiMi 


WAMWWK, 


m 

bike lik door, and exp<^e the entrance to a narrow and kmg 
apartment. Procuring a ligHt he opened this novel door 
still wider and enter^ this unknown chamber. He was 
alone. The workmen had gone home for the night. Holding 
his lamp aloft he walked along this mysterious passage 
which had evidently been used as a chemical laboratory. 
Every appliance and convenience for chemical experiments 
were scattered about, and on shelves, neatly arranged, were 
innumerable vials and jars of glass. 

Passing along this mysterious hall of science or supersti- 
tion, Constant Earle encountered a table of glass, on which 
were several knives of glass and an elegant and powerful 
Groves battery. Several jars of chemicals were standing 
upon the table, over which his eyes ran hastily, and then 
opened in horror upon a fearfhl image seated in a chair at 
the extreme end of the table. It was the fleshless figure of 
a human being whose eyes were looking towards- him. 
Who was the skeleton ? He approached it and found that 
it was chained to the back of the chair. The man had evi- 
dently been a prisoner. It appeared that rats had gnawed 
away every particle of flesh, for fragments of his garments 
were scattered about the floor as if they had been tom away 
by teeth. Nothing remained but the white skeleton sitting 
erect before the table. There was no evidence of violent 
death. There sat the unknown silently alone. The awe- 
struck spectator soon found at the foot of the chair a gold 
watch and chain. Opening the timepiece he found engraved 
within it “ Robert Melville.” One of the covers contained 
a miniature, which subsequently was identified as the one 
given to the deceased by Lord Camochan. How had this 
death occurred? Why was the unfortunate young man 
chained ? How long had he been there a helpless prisoner ? 
Further examination revealed another skeleton lying upon 
the floor and clinched in one of the bony hands was a brazen 
layer. Shattered fragments of some thick glass vessel were 
discovered near to the prostrate form, which was that of a 
man of medium height and powerful frame. The author 
conjectured at once that he had been destroyed in some 
chemical experiment with explosive gases. Fragments of 
the glass vessel were found adhering to and bedded in the 
plastering of the room. Proceeding along the hall he dis^ 
^ered loading down into the lower stoiy ef the house 


fTAMmoX* 


Aad terminating in a hall which led away between the build 
ing» into a lane in the rear. He opened a small narrow iron 
door, painted like the rest of the dwelling, and lo I the lane 
appeared before him. No doubt the secret way was th€ 
work of a former generation. The dwelling was ancient, 
and the passage had similar evidences of age. 

Returning to the laboratory above, he noticed for the first 
time a small writing-desk which was unlocked. In it were 
papers in the handwriting of his brother, and a will of his 
father executed at a period subsequent to the date of the in 
strument under which Montrose Earle had claimed the prop- 
erty. This later will divided the estate of his father equally 
among the two brothers and the sister. Why had the father 
disinherited the younger children By the previous will? 
Montrose Earle had manifestely concealed the last will, 
which would have given all the children competence. This 
mystery was subsequently solved by one of the lawyers for 
whom Constant Earle had copied legal papers in the day of 
his poverty and distress. Upon an accidental employing of 
this lawyer to transact some business for him, he learned 
that for a brief period his father had labored under aberra- 
tion of mind. 

Among the letters in the desk addressed to Montrose 
Earle was one from a female relative, advising him that his 
sister had been ruined by a young English nobleman, and 
that the issue of that illegitimate union was at that date 
provided for in a cottage in the country. 

Upon these evidences, after a consultation with his wife. 
Constant Earle arrived at the following conclusion : That 
Melville had been allured into this secret retreat and mur- 
dered, or that he had been held a close prisoner and met 
his death by the explosion which killed Montrose and 
awakened the Reverend Thomas Delano and his niece from 
their slumbers. The motive of imprisoning or murdering 
him must have been the fancied dishonor of his sister. It 
was deemed wise to withhold this secret discovery from the 
widow of Melville. Lord Camochan approved of the de 
eision which veiled forever from the world the solution of 
the mysterious disappearance of the learned and elegant 
but infidel master of Silvioola,** 


Urs. UaryJ. Holmes’ Novels 

Over a MILLIO N Sold. 

THE NEW BOOK 

Dr. Hathern’s Daughters 

JUSX oux. 

As a writer of domestic stories which are extremely interesting 
withoui being extravagant, Mrs. Mary J Holmes is unrivalled. 
Her characters are true to life, many of them are quaint, 
and all are so admirably delineated that their conduct 
and peculiarities make an enduring impression 
upon the reader’s memory.” 


The following is a list of Mary J. Holmes’ Novels; 


tEMPEST AND SUN- 
I 5HINE. 

Ienglish orphans. 

HOHESTEAD ON THE 
I HILLSIDE. 

J'LENA RIVERS. 
MEADOW BROOK. 
DORA DEANE. 
iCOUSIN MAUDE. 

Iharian grey. 

EDITH LYLE. 


DAISY THORNTON. 
CHATEAU D*OR. 
QUEENIE HETHER* 
TON. 

DARKNESS AND 
DAYLIGHT. 

HUGH WORTHING- 
TON. 

CAMERON PRIDE. 
ROSE MATHER. 
GRETCHEN. 


Dr. HATHERN’S DAUGHTERS, 


ETHELYN’S MIS- 
TAKE. 
niLLBANK. 

EDNA BROWNING. 
WEST LAWN. 
niLDRED. 

FORREST HOUSE. 
HADELINE. 
CHRISTMAS STORIES. 
BESSIE’S FORTUNE. 
MARGUERITE. 

(New.) 


All handsomely printed and bound in cloth, sold everywhere, 
and sent by mail, postage free, on receipt of price ($1.50), by 

G. W. DILLINGHAM, Publisher, 

83 WEST 23rd STREET, NEW YORK. 


MADISON SQUARE 25° SERIES. 


By Mary J. Holmes. 

Tempest and Sanshine. Darkness and Daylight. 
’Lena Kivers. Cameron Pride. 

The English Orphans. Rose Mather. 

Marian Grey. Ethelyu’s Mistake. 

E^th Lyle. Milhank. 

Hugh Worthington. Bessie’s Fortune. 


By Marion Harland. 


Alone. 

True as Steel. 

The Hidden Path 
Ruby’s Husband 
Nemesis. 

Jessamine. 

Phemie’s Temptation. 


Sunny!) ank. 

Moss Side. 

At Last. 

Miriam. 

Husbands and Homes. 
My Little Love. 

The Empty Heart. 


By May Agnes Fleming. 


Guy Earlscourt’s Wile.Silentand True. 
A Wonderful Woman. A Wronged Wife. 
A Terrible Secret. 

A Mad Marriage. 

A Wife’s Tragedy. 

One Night’s Mystery. 

Sharing Her Crime. 


Kate Dan ton. 

Norine’s Revenge. 
Pride and P.nssion. 

The Heir of Charlton. 

A Changed Heart. 
Maude Percy’s Secret. Lost for a Woman. 
Carried by Storm. The Actress’ Daughter. 


By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. 

The Curse of Gold. ^Married in Haste. 

A Noble Woman. The Old Countess 

The Soldier’s Orphans. 


By Bertha M. Clay. 

Thrown on the World. Love Works Wonders. 
Lady Damar’s Secret. Evelyn’s Folly. 

A Bitter Atonement. A Struggle for a Ring. 


By Ceorgie Sheldon. 

Earl Wayne’s Nobility. 


Brownie’s Triumph. 
The Forsaken Bride. 


By Celia E. Gardner. 

Kich Medway’S Two Loves. 

A Woman’s Wiles. Tested. 

Terrace Roses. Her Last Lover. 

Broken Dreams. Stolen Waters. 


By Julie P. Smith. 


Widow Goldsmith’s Daughter. 

Chris and Otho. The Widower. 

Ten Old Maids. The Married Belle. 

His Young Wife. Courting and Farming. 
Kiss and Be Friends. 


Warwick. 

Hotspur. 

Lulu. 

Stormcliff. 


By M. T. Walworth. 


DelapTaine. 
Beverly 
Zahara 


True to the Last. 
Like and Unlike. 
Time and Tide. 
Woman Our Angel. 
Looking Around. 
Resolution. 


By A. S. Roe. 


By Mrs. E. D. E. N. South* 
worth. 


The Changed Brides. Love’s Labor Won. 
The Wife’s Victory. The Gypsey’s Prophec; 
Cruel as the Grave. The Bridal Eve. 

Tried for Her Life. Vivia. 

The Prince of Darkness Allworth Abbey 
The Bride’s Fate. The Fortune Seeker; 
The Fatal Secret. The Two Sisters. 

The Maiden Widow. A Beautiful Fiend. 


BC’ 


The Family Doom. 
The Fatal Marriage. 
The Missing Bride. 
A Noble Lord. 

The Three Beauties. 


The Lost Heir of LinLthgow. 


Victor’s Triumph. 

The Deserted Wife.- ' 
The Lady of the Isle.'" 
The Bride of Llewellys 
The Lost Heiress. 


By Frank Lee Benedict. 


Madame. 

Her Friend. ’ 


Hammer and Anvil. 
A Late Remorse. 


By Allan Pinkerton* 

Expressman and Detectives. 
Somnambulist and Detectives. 

Claude Melnotte, the Detective. 

Bank Robbers and Detectives. 

Mollie Maguires and Detectives. 
Criminal. Reminiscences. 

The Railroad Forger. 

A Double Life. 

The Gypsies and Detectives. 

Spiritualists and Detectives. 

Model Town and Detectives. 

Strikers and Communists. 

Mississippi Outlaws. 

Bucholz and the Detectives. 

The Burglar’s Fate. 

Professional Thieves. 


By Capt. Mayne Reid. 

The Rifle Rangers. The Hunter’s FeasC 

The Wood Rangers. The War Trail. 

Osceola, the Seminole. The Quadroon. 

The Headless Horseman.The Tiger Hunter 
The Wild Huntress. Lost Leonore. 

Rangers and Regulators.The Maroon. 

The White Gauntlet. Wild Life. 

The White Chief. The Scalp Hunters^ 


By R. B. Kimball. 


Was He Successful 1 
St. Leger. 
Undercurrents. 


Virginia RandalL 
A Student’s Romance 


Miscellaneous. 


A Long Look Ahead. 
The Star and the Cloud. 
I’ve Been Thinking. 
How Could He Help it 1 
To Love and to Be Loved 
The Cloud on the Heart. 


Nick Whiffles. By Dr. J. H. Robinson. 
Buckskin Joe. By Maurice Silingsby. 
Doctor Antonio. By Ruffini. 

Pole on Whist, with Portland Rules. 

Draw Poker without a Master. 

Artemus Ward. Complete and Illustrated. 
Amber, the Adopted. By Mrs. Harriet Lewi 
Courtship and Marriage. By Caroline ' 
Heiitz. 

Ernest Linwood. By Caroline Lee Hentz. 
Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet. 

Peerless Cathleeui, By Cora Agnew. 
Faithful Margaret. By Annie Ashmore. 
Lady Leonora. By Carrie Conklin. 

Beatrice Cenci. From the Italian. 






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